
























































































V , 




A BOOK OF 

Golden Deeds 


ALL TIMES AND ALL LANDS. 



GATHERED AND NARRATED BY 


Charlotte M. Yonge. 

n 


THE 


PUBLISHED BY 

CHRISTIAN HERALD, 
Louis Klopsch, Proprietor, 

BIBLE HOUSE. NEW YORK. 



TZ-^ 

5 b 


£ 

1 - 


Copyright 1895, 
By Louis Klopsch. 



Press and Bindery of 

HISTORICAL PUBLISHING CO, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE. 

What Is a Golden Deed ? 13 

Regulus 24 

The Stories of Alcestis and Antigone .... 31 

How One Man Has Saved a Host 38 

The Pass of Thermopylae 45 

The Two Friends of Syracuse 58 

The Brave Brethren of Judah 63 

Withstanding the Monarch in His Wrath . . 75 

The Fast Fight in the Colosseum 83 

The Shepherd Girl of Nanterre 95 

Feo the Slave 102 

Guzman el Bueno lio> 

Faithful till Death 115 

The Keys of Calais 123. 

The Battle of Sempach T38 

Sir Thomas More’s Daughter 145 

The Voluntary Convict 155 

The Housewives of Fowenburg 164 

Fathers and Sons 7 173. 

Heroes of the Plague 186 

The Faithful Slaves of Haiti ........ 202 

The Petitioners for Pardon 211 

Agostina of Zaragoza 23d 

Casal Novo 246 

The Mad Dog 253 

The Monthyon Prizes 258 

The Foss of the Drake and the Magpie . . . 280 

The Chieftainess and the Volcano 293 

The Rescuers 297 

The Rescue Party 303 










book: ok 


GOLDEN DEEDS. 


WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 

We all of us enjoy a story of battle and 
adventure. Some of us delight in the anxiety 
and excitement with which we watch the various 
strange predicaments, hair-breadth escapes, and 
ingenious contrivances that are presented to us ; 
and the mere imaginary dread of the dangers 
thus depicted stirs our feelings and makes us 
feel eager and full of suspense. 

This taste, though it is the first step above 
the dullness that cannot be interested in any- 
thing beyond its own immediate world, nor care 
for what it neither sees, touches, tastes, nor puts 
to any present use, is still the lowest form that 
such a liking can take. It may be no better 
than a love of reading about murders in the 
newspaper, just for the sake of a sort of startled 
sensation ; and it is a taste that becomes 
unwholesome when it absolutely delights in 
dwelling on horrors and cruelties for their 
own sake ; or upon shifty, cunning, dis- 
honest stratagems and devices. To learn to 
take interest in what is evil is always mis- 
chievous. 

But there is an element in many of such 
scenes of woe and violence that may well account 
for our interest in them. It is that which makes 


14 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

the eye gleam and the heart throb, and bears 
us through the details of suffering, blood- 
shed, and even barbarity, — feeling our spirits 
moved and elevated by contemplating the cour- 
age and endurance that they have called forth. 
Nay, such is the charm of brilliant valor, that 
we often are tempted to forget the injustice 
of the cause that may have called forth the 
actions that delight us. And this enthusiasm 
is often united with the utmost tenderness of 
heart, the very appreciation of suffering only 
quickening the sense of the heroism that 
risked the utmost, till the young and ardent 
learn absolutely to look upon danger as 
an occasion for evincing the highest qual- 
ities. 

“ O Life, without thy checkered scene 
Of right and wrong, of weal and woe, 
Success and failure, could a ground 
For magnanimity be found ? ” 

The true cause of such enjoyment is perhaps 
an inherent consciousness that there is nothing 
so noble as forgetfulness of self. Therefore it 
is that we are struck by hearing of the exposure 
of life and limb to the utmost peril, in oblivion, 
or recklessness of personal safety, in comparison 
with a higher object. 

That object is sometimes unworthy. In the 
lowest form of courage it is only avoidance of 
disgrace ; but even fear of shame is better than 
mere love of bodily ease, and from that lowest 
motive the scale rises to the most noble and 
precious actions of which human nature is 


WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 


15 


capable, — the truly golden and priceless deeds 
that are the jewels of history, the salt of life. 

And it is a chain of Golden Deeds that we 
seek to lay before our readers ; but, ere enter- 
ing upon them, perhaps we had better clearly 
understand what it is that to our mind consti- 
tutes a Golden Deed. 

It is not mere hardihood. There was plenty 
of hardihood in Pizarro when he led his men 
through terrible hardships to attack the empire 
of Peru, but he was actuated by mere greedi- 
ness for gain, and all the perils he so resolutely 
endured could not make his courage admirable. 
It was nothing but insensibility to danger, when 
set against the wealth and power that he coveted, 
and to which he sacrificed thousands of helpless 
Peruvians. Daring for the sake of plunder has 
been found in every robber, every pirate, and 
too often in all the lower grade of warriors, from 
the savage plunderer 1 ‘ 1 J 



the reckless monarch 


own ambition. 

There is a courage that breaks out in bravado, 
the exuberance of high spirits, delighting in 
defying peril for its own sake, not indeed pro- 
ducing deeds which deserve to be called golden, 
but which, from their heedless grace, their 
desperation, and absence of all base motives, — 
except perhaps vanity, — have an undeniable 
charm about them, even when we doubt the 
right of exposing a life in mere gayety of heart. 

Such was the gallantry of the Spanish knight 
who, while Fernando and Isabel lay before the 
Moorish city of Granada, galloped out of the 


16 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

camp, in full view of besiegers and besieged, 
and fastened to the gate of the city with his 
dagger a copy of the Ave Maria. It was a 
wildly brave action, and yet without service in 
showing the dauntless spirit of the Christian 
army. But the same can hardly be said of the 
daring shown by the Emperor Maximilian when 
he displayed himself to the citizens of Ulm 
upon the topmost pinnacle of their cathedral 
spire; or of Alonso de Ojeda, who figured in 
like manner upon the tower of the Spanish 
cathedral. The same daring afterward carried 
him in the track of Columbus, and there he 
stained his name with the usual blots of rapacity 
and cruelty. These deeds, if not tinsel, were 
little better than gold leaf. 

A Golden Deed must be something more than 
mere display of fearlessness. Grave and reso- 
lute fulfillment of duty is required to give it the 
true weight. Such duty kept the sentinel at 
his post at the gate of Pompeii, even when the 
stifling dust of ashes came thicker and thicker 
from the volcano, and the liquid mud streamed 
down, and the people fled and struggled on, 
and still the sentry stood at his post, unflinch- 
ing, till death had stiffened his limbs ; and his 
bones, in their helmet and breast-plate, with 
the hand still raised to keep the suffocating 
dust from mouth and nose, have remained even 
till our own times to show how a Roman soldier 
did his duty. In like manner the last of the 
old Spanish infantry originally formed by the 
Great Captain, Gonzalo de Cordova, were all 
cut off, standing fast to a man, at the battle of 


WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? Tl? 

Rocroy,^ in 1643, not one man breaking hi© 
rank. The whole regiment was found lying; 
in regular order upon the field of battle, with 
their Colonel, the old Count de Fuentes, at theii’ 
head, expiring in a chair, in which he had been* 
carried, because he was too infirm to walk, to 
this his twentieth battle. The conqueror, the? 
high-spirited young Duke d’ Enghien, after- 
ward Prince of Conde, exclaimed, “ Were L 
not a victor, I should have wished thus to 
die !” and preserved the chair among the relics 
of the bravest of his own fellow-country- 
men. 

Such hbedience at all costs and all risks is> 
however, the very essence of a soldier’s life. 
An army could not exist without it, a ship 
could not sail without it, and millions upon 
millions of those whose “ bones are dust and good 
swords are rust” have shown such resolution,. 
It is the solid material, but it has hardly the< 
exceptional brightness, of a Golden Deed. 

And yet, perhaps, it is one of the mos& 
remarkable characteristics of a Golden Deed 
that the doer of it is certain to feel it merely" 
a duty : “ I have done that which it was nay- 
duty to do,” is the natural answer of those- 
capable of such actions. They have been, coej*- 
strained to them by duty, or by pity; have- 
never even deemed it possible to act otherwise,, . 
and did not once think of themselves- m the; 
matter at all. 

For the true metal of a Golden Deed is self- 
devotion. Selfishness is the dross and aSby 
that gives the unsound ring to many am 


IB BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

that lias been called glorious. And, on the 
other hand, it is not only the valor which 
meets a thousand enemies upon the battle- 
field, or scales the walls in a forlorn hope, that 
is of true gold. It may be, but often it is mere 
greed for fame, fear of shame, or lust of plun- 
der. No, it is the spirP that gives itself for 
others — the temper that, for the sake of religion, 
of country, of duty, of kindred, nay, of pity 
oven to a stranger, will dare all things, risk all 
things, endure all things, meet deaths in one 
moment ; or wear life away in slow, persever- 
ing tendance and suffering. 

Such a spirit was shown by Lesena, the 
Athenian woman, at whose house the over- 
throw of the tyranny of the Pisistratids w T as 
-concerted, and who, when seized and put to the 
torture that she might disclose the secrets of the 
conspirators, fearing that the weakness of her 
frame might overpower her resolution, actually 
bit off her tongue, that she might he unable to 
betray the trust placed in her. The Athenians 
commemorated her truly golden silence by 
raising in her honor the statue of a lioness 
without a tongue, in allusion to her name, 
which signifies a lioness. 

Again, Rome had a tradition of a lady whose 
mother was in prison under sentence of death 
by hunger, but who, at the peril of her own 
life, visited her daily and fed her from her own 
bosom, until even the stern senate were moved 
with pity, and granted a pardon. The same 
story is told of a Greek lady, called Euphrasia, 
who thus nourished her father ; and in Scotland, 


WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 19 

in 1401, when the unhappy heir of the king- 
dom, David, Duke of Rothsay, had been thrown 
into the dungeon of Falkland Castle by his 
barbarous uncle, the Duke of Albany, there to 
be starved to death, his only helper was one 
poor peasant woman, who, undeterred by fear 
of the savage men that guarded the castle, 
crept at every safe opportunity, to the grated 
window on a level with the ground, and dropped 
cakes through it to the prisoner, while she 
allayed his thirst from her own breast through 
a pipe. Alas ! the visits were detected, and 
the Christian prince had less mercy than the 
heathen senate. Another woman, in 1450, 
when Sir Gilles of Brittany was savagely 
imprisoned and starved in much the same 
manner by his brother, Duke Francois, sus- 
tained him for several days by bringing wheat 
in her veil, and dropping it through the grated 
window, and when poison had been used to 
hasten his death, she brought a priest to the 
grating to enable him to make his peace with 
Heaven. Tender pity made these women 
venture all things; and surely their doings 
were full of the gold of love. 

So again two Swiss lads, whose father was 
dangerously ill, found that they could by no 
means procure the needful medicine, except at 
a price far beyond their means, and heard that 
an English traveler had offered a large price 
for a couple of eaglets. The only eyrie was on 
a crag supposed to be so inaccessible, that no 
one ventured to attempt it, till these boys, in 
their intense anxiety for their father, dared the 


20 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

fearful clanger, scaled the precipice, captured 
the birds, and safely conveyed them to the 
traveler. Truly this was a deed of gold. 

Such was the action of the Russian servant 
whose master’s carriage was pursued by wolves, 
and who sprang out among the beasts, sacrific- 
ing his own life willingly to slake their fury 
for a few minutes in order that the horses might 
be untouched, and convey his master to a place 
of safety. But his act of self-devotion has been 
so beautifully expanded in the story of “ Eric’s 
Grave,” in “ Tales of Christian Heroism,” that 
we can only hint at it, as at that of the “ Helms- 
man of Lake Erie,” who, with the steamer on 
fire around him, held fast by the wheel in the 
very jaws of the flame, so as to guide the vessel 
into harbor, and save the many lives within 
her, at the cost of his own fearful agony, while 
slowly scorched by the flames. 

Memorable, too, was the compassion that kept 
Dr. Thompson upon the battlefield of the Alma, 
all alone throughout the night, striving to alle- 
viate the sufferings and attend to the wants, not 
of our own wounded, but of the enemy, some of 
whom, if they were not sorely belied, had been 
known to requite a friendly act of assistance 
with a pistol-shot. Thus to remain in the dark- 
ness, on a battlefield in an enemy’s country, 
among the enemy themselves, all for pity and 
mercy’s sake, was one of the noblest acts that 
history can show. Yet it was paralleled in the 
time of the Indian Mutiny, when every English 
man and woman was flying from the rage of 
the Sepoys at Benares, and Dr. Hay^alone 


WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 21 

remained, because lie would not desert the 
patients in the hospital, whose life depended 
on his care — many of them of those very native 
corps who were advancing to massacre him. 
This was the Roman sentry’s firmness, more 
voluntary and more glorious. Nor may we 
pass by her to whom our title-page points as 
our living type of Golden Deeds — to her who 
first showed how woman’s ministrations of 
mercy may be carried on, not only within the 
city, but on the borders of the camp itself — 
“ the lady with the lamp,” whose health and 
strength were freely devoted to the holy work 
of softening the after sufferings that render war 
so hideous ; whose very step and shadow carried 
gladness and healing to the sick soldier, and 
who has opened a path of like shining light to 
many another woman who only needed to be 
shown the way. Fitly, indeed, may the figure 
of Florence Nightingale be shadowed forth at 
the opening of our roll of Golden Deeds. 

Thanks be to God, there is enough of His 
own spirit of love abroad in the earth to make 
Golden Deeds of no such rare occurrence, but 
that they are of a all time.” Even heathen 
days were not without them, and how much 
more should they not abound after the words 
have been spoken, “ Greater love hath no man 
than this, that he lay down his life for his 
friend,” and after the one Great Deed has been 
wrought that has consecrated all other deeds 
of self-sacrifice. Of martyrdoms we have 
scarcely spoken. They were truly deeds of 
the purest gold ; but they are too numerous to 


22 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

be dwelt on here ; and even as soldiers deem it 
each man’s simple duty to face death unhesitat- 
ingly, so “the glorious army of martyrs” had, 
for the most part, joined the Church with the 
expectation that they should have to confess 
the faith, and confront the extremity of death 
and torture for it. 

What have been here brought together are 
chiefly cases of self-devotion that stand out 
remarkably, either from their hopelessness, 
their courage, or their patience, varying with 
the character of their age ; but with that one 
essential distinction in all, that the dross of 
self was cast away. 

Among these we cannot forbear mentioning 
the poor American soldier, who, grievously 
Wounded, had just been laid in the middle bed, 
by far the most comfortable of the three tiers of 
berths in the ship’s cabin in which the wounded 
were to be conveyed to New York. Still 
thrilling with the suffering of being carried 
from the field, and lifted to his place, he saw a 
comrade in even worse plight brought in, and 
thinking of the pain it must cost his fellow- 
soldier to be raised to the bed above him, he 
surprised his kind lady nurses (daily scatterers 
of Golden Deeds) by saying, “ Put me up there, 
I reckon I’ll bear hoisting better than he will.” 

And, even as we write, we hear of an Ameri- 
can railway collision that befell a train on the 
way to Elmira with prisoners, The engineer, 
whose name was William Ingram, might have 
leapt off and saved himself before the shock ; 
but he remained in order to reverse the engine, 


WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 2c£ 

though with certain death staring him in the 
face. He was buried in the wreck of the meet- 
ing train, and when found, his back was against 
the boiler, — he was jammed in, unable to move, 
and actually being burnt to death ; but even in 
that extremity of anguish he called out to those 
who came around to help him, to keep away, as 
he expected the boiler would burst. They 
disregarded the generous cry, and used every 
effort to extricate him, but could not succeed 
until after his sufferings had ended in death. 

While men and women still exist who will 
thus suffer and thus die, losing themselves in 
the thought of others, surely the many forms 
of woe and misery with which this earth is 
spread, do but give occasions of working out 
some of the highest and best qualities of which 
mankind are capable. And O, young readers, 
if your hearts burn within you as you read of 
these various forms of the truest and deepest 
glory, and you long for time and place to act 
in the like devoted way, bethink yourselves 
that the alloy of such actions is to be constantly 
worked away in daily life ; and that if ever it 
be your lot to do a Golden Deed, it will proba- 
bly be in unconsciousness that you are doing 
anything extraordinary, and that the whole 
impulse will consist in the having absolutely 
forgotten self. 


24 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


REGULUS. 
b. c. 249. 

The first wars that the Romans engaged in 
fbeyond the bounds of Italy, were with the 
Carthaginians. This race came from Tyre and 
Zidon ; and were descended from some of the 
^Phoenicians, or Zidonians, who were such dan- 
gerous foes, or more dangerous friends, to the 
Israelite. Carthage had, as some say, been 
first founded by some of the Canaanites w r ho 
fled when Joshua conquered the Promised 
]Land ; and whether this were so or not, the 
inhabitants were in all their ways the same as 
the Tyrians and Zidonians, of whom so much is 
said in the prophecies of Isaiah and Ezekiel. 
JLike them, they worshiped Baal and Ashtor- 
efih, and the frightful Moloch, with foul and 
•cruel rites ; and, like them, they were excellent 
sailors and great merchants, trading with every 
Iknown country, and living in great riches and 
splendor at their grand city on the southern 
shore of the Mediterranean. That they were a 
wicked and ciuel race is also certain ; the 
Homans used to call deceit Punic faith, that is, 
^Phoenician faith, and though no doubt Roman 
writers show them up in their worst colors, yet, 
safiter the time of Hiram, Solomon’s ally at 
Tyre, it is plain from Holy Scripture that their 
crimes were great. 

The first dispute between Rome and Carthage 
was about their possession in the island of 


REGULUS. 


25 

Sicily ; and the war thus begun had lasted 
eight years, when it was resolved to send an 
army to fight the Carthaginians on their own 
shores. The army and fleet were placed under 
the command of the two consuls, Lucius Man- 
lius and Marco Attilius Regulus. On the way, 
there was a great sea-fight with the Carthagin- 
ian fleet, and this was the first naval battle that 
the Romans ever gained. It made the way to 
Africa free ; but the soldiers, who had never 
been so far from home before, murmured, for 
they expected to meet not only human enemies, 
but monstrous serpents, lions, elephants, asses 
with horns, and dog-headed monsters, to have a 
.scorching sun overhead, and a noisome marsh 
under their feet. However, Regulus sternly 
put a stop to all murmurs, by making it 
known that disaffection would be punished by 
death, and the army safely landed and set up a 
fortification at Clypea, and plundered the 
whole country round. Orders here came from 
Rome that Manlius should return thither, but 
that Regulus should remain to carry on the 
war. This was a great grief to him. He was a 
very poor man, with nothing of his own but a 
little farm of seven acres, and the person whom 
he had employed to cultivate it had died in his 
absence ; a hired laborer had undertaken the 
care of it, but had been unfaithful, and had 
run away with his tools and his cattle, so that 
he was afraid that, unless he could return 
quickly, his wife and children would starve. 
However, the Senate engaged to provide for 
his family, and he remained, making expedi- 


26 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


tions into the country round, in the course of 
which the Romans really did fall in with a 
serpent, as monstrous as their imagination had 
depicted. It was said to be 120 feet long, and 
dwelt upon the banks of the river Bagrada, 
where it used to devour the Roman soldiers as 
they went to fetch water. It had such tough 
scales that they were obliged to attack it with 
their engines meant for battering city walls ; 
and only succeeded with much difficulty in 
destroying it. 

The country was most beautiful, covered 
with fertile corn-fields and full of rich fruit- 
trees, and all the rich Carthaginians had 
country-houses and gardens, which were made 
delicious with fountains, trees and flowers. 
The Roman soldiers, plain, hardy, fierce and 
pitiless, did, it must be feared, cruel damage 
among those peaceful scenes ; they boasted of 
having sacked 800 villages, and mercy was 
not yet known to them. The Carthaginian 
army, though strong in horsemen and in ele- 
phants, kept upon the hills and did nothing to 
save the country, and the wild desert tribes of 
Numidians came rushing in to plunder what 
the Romans had left. The Carthaginians sent 
to offer terms of peace ; but Regulus, who had 
become uplifted by his conquests, made such 
demands that the messengers remonstrated. 
He answered, “ Men who are good for anything 
should either conquer or submit to their 
betters ; ” and he sent them rudely away, like a 
stern old Roman as he was. His merit was 
that he had no more mercy on himself than 
on others. 


REGULUS 


27 


The Carthaginians were driven to extremity, 
and made horrible offerings to Moloch, giving 
the little children of the noblest families to be 
dropped into the fire between the brazen hands 
of his statue, and grown-up people of the 
noblest families rushed in of their own accord, 
hoping thus to propitiate their gods, and 
obtain safety for their country. Their time 
was not yet fully come, and a respite was 
granted to them. They had sent, in their 
distress, to hire soldiers in Greece, and among 
these came a Spartan, named Xanthippus, who 
at once took the command and led the army 
out to battle, with a long line of elephants 
ranged in front of them, end with clouds of 
horsemen hovering on the wings. The Romans 
had not yet learnt the best mode of fighting 
with elephants, namely, to leave lanes in their 
columns where these huge beasts might advance 
harmlessly; instead of which, the ranks were 
thrust and trampled down by the creatures’ 
bulk, and they suffered a terrible defeat ; Reg- 
ulus himself was seized by the horsemen, and 
dragged into Carthage, where the victors feasted 
and rejoiced through half the night, and testi- 
fied their thanks to Moloch by offering in his 
fires the bravest of their captives. 

Regulus himself was not, however, one of 
these victims. He was kept a close prisoner 
for two years, pining and sickening in his lone- 
liness, while in the meantime the war continued, 
and at last a victory so decisive was gained by 
the Romans, that the people of Carthage were 
discouraged, and resolved to ask terms of peace. 


28 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

They thought that no one would be so readily 
listened to at Rome as Regulus, and they 
therefore sent him there with their envoys, 
having first made him swear that he would 
■come back to his prison if there should neither 
be peace nor an exchange of prisoners. They 
little knew how much more a true-hearted 
Roman cared for his city than for himself — for 
bis word than for his life. 

Worn and dejected, the captive warrior came 
to the outside of the gates of his own city, and 
there paused, refusing to enter. “ I am no 
longer a Roman citizen,” he said ; “ I am but 
the barbarians’ slave, and the Senate may not 
give atidience to strangers within the walls.” 

His wife Marcia ran out to greet him, with 
bis two sons, but he did not look up, and 
received their caresses as one beneath their 
notice, as a mere slave, and he continued, in 
spite of all entreaty, to remain outside the city, 
and would not even go to the little farm he had 
loved so well. 

The Roman Senate, as he would not come in 
to them, came out to hold their meeting in the 
Campagna. 

The ambassadors spoke first ; then Regulus, 
standing up, said, as one repeating a task, 
“ Conscript fathers, being a slave to the Cartha- 
ginians, I come on the part of my masters to 
treat with you concerning peace and an ex- 
change of prisoners.” He then turned to go 
away with the ambassadors, as a stranger might 
not be present at the deliberations of the 
Senate. His old friends pressed him to stay 


REGULUS. 


29 - 


and give his opinion as a senator who had 
twice been consul ; but he refused to degrade 
that dignity by claiming it, slave as he was. 
But, at the command of his Carthaginian mas- 
ters, he remained, though not taking his seat. 

Then he spoke. He told the senators to 
persevere in the war. He said he had seep 
the distress of Carthage, and that a peace would 
be only to her advantage, not to that of Roma 
and therefore he strongly advised that the waj 
should continue. Then, as to the exchange of 
prisoners, the Carthaginian generals, who were 
in the hands of the Romans, were in full 
health and strength, whilst he himself was too 
much broken down to be fit for service again, 
and indeed he believed that his enemies had 
given him a slow poison, and that he could not 
live long. Thus he insisted that no exchange 
of prisoners should be made. 

It was wonderful even to Romans, to hear 
a man thus pleading against himself, and their 
chief priest came forward, and declared that, as 
his oath had been wrested from him by force, he 
was not bound by it to return to his captivity. 
But Regulus was too noble to listen to this 
for a moment. “ Have you resolved to dis- 
honor me ? ” he said ; “lam not ignorant that 
death and the extremest tortures are preparing 
for me ; but what are these to the shame of an 
infamous action, or the wounds of a guilty 
mind? Slave as I am to Carthage, I have 
still the spirit of a Roman. I have sworn to 
return. It is my duty to go; let the gods take 
care of the rest.” 


30 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


The Senate decided to follow the advice of 
Regulus, though they bitterly regretted his 
sacrifice. His wife wept and entreated in vain 
that they would detain him ; they could merely 
repeat their permission to him to remain ; but 
nothing could prevail with him to break his word, 
and he turned back to the chains and death he 
expected as calmly as if he had been returning 
to his home. This was in the year b. c. 249. 

“ Let the gods take care of the rest,” said 
the Roman ; the gods whom alone he knew, 
and through whom he ignorantly worshiped 
the true God, whose Light was shining out 
even in this heathen’s truth and constancy. 
How his trust was fulfilled is not known. 
The Senate, after the next victory, gave two 
Garthaginian generals to his wife and sons 
to hold as pledges for his good treatment ; 
but when tidings arrived that Regulus was 
dead, Marcia began to treat them both wdth 
savage cruelty, though one of them assured 
her that he had been careful to have her 
husband well used. Horrible stories were 
told that Regulus had been put out in the sun 
with his eyelids cut off, rolled down a hill in a 
barrel with spikes, killed by being constantly 
kept awake, or else crucified. Marcia seems 
to have set about, and perhaps believed in these 
horrors, and avenged them on her unhappy 
captives till one had died, and the Senate 
sent for her sons and severely reprimanded 
them. They declared it was their mother’s 
doing, not theirs, and thenceforth were careful 
of the comfort of the remaining prisoner. 


ALCESTIS AND ANTIGONE. 31 

It may thus be hoped that the frightful 
cale of Regulus’ sufferings was but formed by 
report acting on the fancy of a vindictive 
woman, and that Regulus was permitted to die 
in peace of the disease brought on far more 
probably by the climate and imprisonment 
than by the poison to which he ascribed it. 
It is not the tortures he may have endured 
that make him one of the noblest characters of 
history, but the resolution that would neither 
let him save himself at the risk of his coun- 
try’s prosperity, nor forfeit the word that he 
had pledged. 


THE STORIES OF ALCESTIS AND 
ANTIGONE. 

It has been said, that even the heathens saw 
and knew the glory of self-devotion ; and the 
Greeks had two early instances so very beauti- 
ful that, though they cannot in all particulars 
be true, they must not be passed over. There 
must have been some foundation for them, 
though we cannot now disentangle them from 
the fable that has adhered to them ; and, at 
any rate, the ancient Greeks believed them, 
and gathered strength and nobleness from 
dwelling on such examples ; since, as it has 
been truly said, “ Every word, look, or thought 
of sympathy with heroic action, helps to make 
heroism.” Both tales were represented before 
them in their solemn religious tragedies, and 


32 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

the noble poetry in which they were recounted 
by the great Greek dramatists has been pre- 
served to our time. 

Alcestis was the wife of Admetus, King of 
Phene, who, according to the legend, was 
assured that his life might be prolonged, pro- 
vided father, mother, or wife would die in his 
stead. It was Alcestis alone who was willing 
freely to give her life to save that of her 
husband ; and her devotion is thus exquisitely 
described in the following translation, by Pro- 
fessor Anstice, from the choric song in the 
tragedy by Euripides : 

“ Be patient, for thy tears are vain, — 

They may not wake the dead again. 

E’en heroes, of immortal sire 
And mortal mother born, expire. 

O, she was dear 
While she lingered here ; 

She is dear now she rests below, 

And thou mayest boast 
That the bride thou has lost 
Was the noblest earth can show. 

“ We will not look on her burial sod 
As the cell of sepulchral sleep, 

It shall be as the shrine of a radiant god, 
And the pilgrim shall visit that blest abode 
To worship, and not to weep ; 

And as he turns his steps aside, 

Thus shall he breathe his vow : 

‘ Here sleeps a self-devoted bride, 

Of old to save her lord she died. 

She is a spirit now. 


ALCESTIS AND ANTIGONE. 33 

Hail, bright and blest one ! grant to me 

The smiles of glad prosperity.’ 

Thus shall he own her name divine, 

Thus bend him at Alcestis’ shrine.” 

The story, however, bore . that Hercules, de- 
scending in the course of one of his labors into 
the realms of the dead, rescued Alcestis, and 
brought her back ; and Euripides gives a scene 
in which the rough, jovial Hercules insists on 
the sorrowful Admetus marrying again a lady 
of his own choice, and gives the veiled Alcestis 
back to him as the new bride. Later Greeks 
tried to explain the story by saying that 
Alcestis nursed her husband through an infec- 
tious fever, caught it herself, and had been 
supposed to be dead, when a skillful physician 
restored her ; but this is probably only one of 
the many reasonable versions they tried to give 
of the old tales that were founded on the decay 
and reveal of nature in winter and spring, and 
with a presage running through them of sacri- 
fice, death, and resurrection. Our own poet 
Chaucer was a great admirer of Alcestis, and 
improved upon the legend by turning her into 
his favorite flower : 

“ The daisie or els the eye of the daie, 

The emprise and the floure of flouris all.” 

j 

Another Greek legend told of the maiden of 
Thebes, one of the most self-devoted beings 
that could be conceived by a fancy untrained 
in the knowledge of Divine Perfection. It 


34 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

cannot be known how much of her story is 
true, but it was one that went deep into the 
hearts of Grecian men and women, and en- 
couraged them in some of their best feelings ; 
and assuredly the deeds imputed to her were 
golden. 

Antigone was the daughter of the old King 
CEdipus of Thebes. After a time heavy 
troubles, the consequence of the sins of his 
youth, came upon him, and he was driven 
away from his kingdom, and sent to wander 
forth a blind old man, scorned and pointed at 
by all. Then it was that his faithful daughter 
showed true affection for him. She might have 
remained at Thebes with her brother Eteocles, 
who had been made king in her father’s room, 
but she chose instead to wander forth with the 
forlorn old man, fallen from his kingly state, 
and absolutely begging his bread. The great 
Athenian poet Sophocles began his tragedy of 
“ CEdipus Coloneus ” with showing the blind 
old king leaning upon Antigone’s arm, and 
asking, — 

“ Tell me, thou daughter of a blind old man, 
Antigone, to what land are we come, 

Or to what city ? Who the inhabitants 
Who with a slender pittance will relieve 
Even for a day the wandering CEdipus.” 

Potter. 

The place to which they had come was in 
Attica, near the city of Colonus. It was a 
lovely grove, — 


AiXESTIS AND ANTIGONE. 


35 


“ All the haunts of Attic ground, 

Where the matchless coursers bound, 
Boast not, through their realms of bliss, 
Other spot so fair as this. 

Frequent down this greenwood dale 
Mourns the warbling nightingale, 

Nestling ’mid the thickest screen 
Of the ivy’s darksome green, 

Or where each empurpled shoot 
Drooping with its myriad fruit, 

Curled in many a mazy twine, 

Droops the never-trodden vibe. 

Anstice. 

This beautiful grove was sacred to the 
Eumenides, or avenging goddesses, and it was 
therefore a sanctuary where no foot might 
tread ; but near it the exiled king was allowed 
to take up his abode, and was protected by the 
great Athenian king, Theseus. There his 
other daughter, Ismene, joined him, and, after 
a time, his elder son, Polynices, arrived. 

Polynices had been expelled from Thebes by 
his brother Eteocles, and had been wandering 
through Greece seeking aid to recover his 
rights. He had collected an army, and was 
come to take leave of his father and sisters; 
and at the same time to entreat his sisters to 
take care that, if he should fall in the battle, 
they would prevent his corpse from being left 
unburied ; for the Greeks believed that till the 
funeral rites were performed, the spirit went 
wandering restlessly up and down upon the 
banks of a dark stream, unable to enter the 


86 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

home of the dead. Antigone solemnly prom- 
ised to him that he should not be left without 
these last rites. Before long, old CEdipus was 
killed by lightning, and the two sisters returned 
to Thebes. 

The united armies of the seven chiefs against 
Thebes came on, led by Polynices. Eteocles 
sallied out to meet them, and there was a 
terrible battle, ending in all the seven chiefs 
being slain ; and the two brothers, Eteocles 
and Polynices, were killed by one another in 
single combat. Creon, the uncle, who thus 
became king, had always been on the side of 
Eteocles, and therefore commanded that, whilst 
this younger brother was entombed with all 
due solemnities, the body of the elder should 
be left upon the battlefield to be torn by dogs 
and vultures, and that whosoever durst bury it 
should be treated as a rebel and traitor to the 
state. 

This was the time for the sister to remember 
her oath to her dead brother. The more timid 
Ismene would have dissuaded her, but she 
answered, — 

“ To me no sufferings have that hideous form 

Which can affright me from a glorious 
death.” 

And she crept forth by night, amid all the 
horrors of the deserted field of battle, and her- 
self covered with loose earth the corpse of 
Polynices. The barbarous uncle caused it tc 
be taken up and again exposed, and a watch 


ALCESTIS AND ANTIGONE. 37 

was set at some little distance. Again Anti- 
gone 

“Was seen, lamenting shrill with plaintive 
notes, 

Like the poor bird that sees her lonely nest 
Spoiled of her young.” 

Again she heaped dry dust with her own 
hands over the body, and poured forth the 
libations of wine that formed an essential part 
of the ceremony. She was seized by the 
guard, and led before Creon. She boldly 
avowed her deed, and, in spite of the supplica- 
tions of Ismene, she was put to death, a suf- 
ferer for her noble and pious deeds ; and with 
this only comfort : 

“ Glowing at my heart 
I feel this hope, that to my father, dear 
And dear to thee, my mother dear to thee, 
My brother, I shall go.” 

Potter. 

Dim and doubtful indeed was the hope that 
upbore the grave and beautiful Theban maiden ; 
and we shall see her resolution equaled, though 
hardly surpassed, by Christian Antigones of 
equal love and surer faith. 


38 


itfOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


HOW ONE MAN HAS SAVED A HOST. 

B. c. 507. 

There have been times when the devotion of 
one man has been the saving of an army. Such, 
according to old Roman story, was the feat of 
Horatius Codes. It was in the year b. c. 507, 
not long after the kings had been expelled from 
Rome, when they were endeavoring to return 
by the aid of the Etruscans. Lars Porsena, 
one of the great Etruscan chieftains, had taken 
up the cause of the banished Tarquinius Supur- 
bus and his son Sextus, and gathered all his 
forces together, to advance upon the city of 
Rome. The great walls, of old Etrurian archi- 
tecture, had probably already risen round the 
growing town, and all the people came flocking 
in from the country for shelter there ; but the 
Tiber was the best defence, and it was onl) 
crossed by one wooden bridge, and the further 
side of that was guarded by a fort, called the 
Janiculum. But the vanguards of the over- 
whelming Etruscan army soon took the fort, 
and then, in the gallant words of Lord Macau- 
lay’s ballad, — 

“ Thus in all the Senate 

There was no heart so bold, 

But sore it ached, and fast it beat, 

When that ill news was told. 


HOW ONE MAN HAS SAVED A HOST. 39 

Forthwith up rose the Consul, 

Up rose the Fathers all, 

In haste they girded up their gowns. 

And hied them to the wall. 

“ They held a council standing 
Before the River Gate : 

Short time was there, ye well may guess 
For musing or debate. 

Out spoke the Consul roundly, 

* The bridge must straight go down 
For, since Janieulum is lost, 

Naught else can save the town/ 

“ Just then a scout came flying, 

All wild with haste and fear ; 

* To arms ! to arms ! Sir Consul, 

Lars Porsena is here/ 

On the low hills to westward 
The Consul fixed his eye, 

And saw the swarthy storm of dust 
Rise fast along the sky. 

* * * * * 

“ But the Consul’s brow was sad, 

And the Consul’s speech was low, 

And darkly looked he at the wall, 

And darkly at the foe. 

‘ Their van will be upon us 
Before the bridge goes down ; 

And if they once may win the bridge. 

What hope to save the town ? ’ 


40 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

“ Then out spake brave Horatius, 

The Captain of the Gate, 

* To every man upon this earth 
Death cometh soon or late ; 

And how can man die better 
Than facing fearful odds, 

For the ashes of his fathers, 

And the temples of his gods ? 

“ ‘ And for the tender mother 
Who dandled him to rest, 

And for the wife who nurses 
His baby at her breast ? 

And for the holy maidens 
Who feed the eternal flame, 

To save them from false Sextus, 

That wrought the deed of shame ? 

<l ‘ Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul 
With all the speed ye may, 

I, with two more to help me, 

Will hold the foe in play. 

In yon straight path a thousand 
May well be stopped by three : 
Now who will stand on either hand, 
And keep the bridge with me ? ’ 

■“ Then out spake Spurius Lartius, 

A Ramnian proud was he, 

‘ Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 
And keep the bridge with thee/ 
And out spake strong Herminius, 

Of Titian blood was he, 

4 1 will abide on thy left side, 

And keep the bridge w T ith thee/ ” 


HOW ONE MAN HAS SAVED A HOST. 41 

So forth went these brave men, Horatius, the 
Consul’s nephew. Spurius Lartius, and Titus 
Herminius, to guard the bridge at the further 
end, while all the rest of the warriors were 
breaking down the timbers behind them. 

“And Fathers, mixed with commons, 

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, 

And smote upon the planks above, 

And loosened them below. 

“ Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 

Right glorious to behold, 

Came flashing back the noonday light, 
Rank behind rank, like surges bright, 

Of a broad sea of gold. 

Four hundred trumpets sounded 
A peal of warlike glee, 

As that great host, with measured tread, 
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
Rolled slowly towards the bridge’s head. 
Where stood the dauntless three. 

“ The three stood calm and silent, 

And looked upon the foes, 

And a great shout of laughter 
From all the vanguard rose.” 

They laughed to see three men standing to 
meet the whole army ; but it was so narrow a 
space, that no more than three enemies could 
attack them at once, and it was not easy tc 
match them. Foe after foe came forth agains. 


42 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

them, and went down before their swords and 
spears, till at last — 

“Was none that would be foremost 
To lead such dire attack ; 

But those behind cried ‘ Forward ! ’ 

And those before cried ‘ Back ! ’ ” 

i{C 5fc * % 

However, the supports of the bridge had 
been destroyed. 

** But meanwhile axe and lever, 

Have manfully been plied, 

And now the bridge hangs tottering 
Above the boiling tide. 

* Gome back, come back, Horatius ! * 

Loud cried the Fathers all ; 

* Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 

Back, ere the ruin fall ! ’ 

“ Back darted Spurius Lartius, 

Herminius darted back ; 

And as they passed, beneath their feet, 
They felt the timbers crack ; 

But when they turned their faces, 

And on the farther shore 
Saw brave Horatius standing alone, 

They would have crossed once more. 

“ But with a crash like thunder 
Fell every loosened beam, 

And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 
Lay right athwart the stream ; 


HOW ONE MAN HAS SAVED A HOST. 43 * 

And a long shout of triumph 
Rose from the walls of Rome, 

As to the highest turret-tops 
Was splashed the yellow foam.” 

The one last champion, behind a rampart of 
dead enemies, remained till the destruction was- 
complete. 

“ Alone stood brave Horatius, 

But constant still in mind, 

Thrice thirty thousand foes before 
And the broad flood behind.” 

A dart had put out one eye, he was wounded 
in the thigh, and his work was done. He 
turned round, and — 

“ Saw on Palatinus, 

The white porch of his home, 

And he spake to the noble river 
That rolls by the walls of Rome, 

* O Tiber ! father Tiber ! 

To whom the Romans pray, 

A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms, 

Take thou in charge this day.’ ” 

And with this brief prayer he leapt into the 
foaming stream. Polybius was told that he 
was there drowned ; but Livy gives the version 
which the ballad follows : — 

“ But fiercely ran the current, 

Swollen high by months of rain, 

And fast his blood was flowing, 

And he was sore in pain, 


44 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


And heavy with his armor, 

And spent with changing blows, 
And oft they thought him sinking, 
But still again he rose. 

•“ Never, I ween, did swimmer, 

In such an evil case, 

Struggle through such a raging flood 
Safe to the landing place. 

But his limbs were borne up bravely 
By the brave heart within, 

And our good father Tiber 
Bare bravely up his chin. 

And now he feels the bottom, 

Now on dry earth he stands, 

Now round him throng the Fathers 
To press his gory hands. 

And now with shouts and clapping, 
And noise of weeping loud, 

He enters through the Kiver Gate, 
Borne by the joyous crowd. 


They gave him of the corn-land 
That was of public right, 

As much as two strong oxen 

Could plough from morn to night. 
And they made a molten image, 

And set it up on high, 

And there it stands unto this day 
To witness if I lie. 


THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 4& 

“ It stands in the Comitium, 

Plain for all folks to see, 

Horatius in his harness, 

Halting upon his knee : 

And underneath is written, 

In letters all of gold, 

How valiantly he kept the bridge 
In the brave days of old.” 

Never was more honorable surname than was 
his, of Codes, or the one-eyed ; and though his 
lameness prevented him from ever being a 
Consul, or leading an army, he was so much 
beloved and honored by his fellow-citizens, that 
in the time of a famine each Roman, to the 
number of 300,000, brought him a day’s food, 
lest he should suffer want. The statue was- 
shown even in the time of Pliny, 600 years 
afterward, and was probably only destroyed 
when Rome was sacked by the barbarians. 

THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 
b. c. 430. 

There was trembling in Greece. “ The Great 
King,” as the Greeks called the chief potentate 
of the East, whose domains stretched from the 
Indian Caucasus to the AEgseus, from the Cas- 
pian to the Red Sea, was marshaling his forces 
against the little free states that nestled amid 
the rocks and gulfs of the Eastern Mediter- 
ranean. Already had his might devoured the 


46 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


•cherished colonies of the Greeks on the eastern 
-shore of the Archipelago, and every traitor to 
home institutions found a ready asylum at that 
•despotic court, and tried to revenge his own 
wrongs by whispering incitements to invasion. 
“ All people, nations, and languages,” was the 
commencement of the decrees of that monarch’s 
court ; and it was scarcely a vain boast, for his 
satraps ruled over subject kingdoms, and among 
his tributary nations he counted the Chaldean, 
with his learning and old civilization, the wise 
and steadfast Jew, the skillful Phoenician, the 
learned Egyptian, the wild, freebooting Arab 
of the desert, the dark-skinned Ethiopian, and 
over all these ruled the keen-witted, active 
native Persian race, the conquerors of all the 
rest, and led by a chosen band proudly called 
the immortal. His many capitals — Babylon 
the Great, Susa, Persepolis, and the like — were 
names of dreamy splendor to the Greeks, 
described now and then by Ionians from Asia 
Minor who had carried their tribute to the 
king’s own feet, or by courtier slaves who had 
^escaped with difficulty from being all too ser- 
viceable at the tyrannic court. And the lord 
of this enormous empire was about to launch 
his countless host against the little cluster of 
states, the whole of which together would hardly 
equal one province of the huge Asiatic realm ! 
Moreover, it was a war not only on the men but 
on their gods. The Persians were zealous 
adorers of the sun and of fire; they abhorred 
the idol-worship of the Greeks, and defiled and 
(plundered every temple that fell in their way. 


THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 47 

Death and desolation were almost the best that 
could be looked for at such hands, — slavery and 
torture from cruelly barbarous masters would 
only too surely be the lot of numbers, should 
their land fall a prey to the conquerors. 

True it was that ten years back the former 
Great King had sent his best troops to be sig- 
nally defeated upon the coast of Attica; but 
the losses at Marathon had but stimulated 
the Persian lust of conquest, and the new King 
Xerxes was gathering together such myriads of 
men as should crush down the Greeks and over- 
run their country by mere force of numbers. 

The muster place was at Sardis, and there 
Greek spies had seen the multitudes assembling 
and the state and magnificence of the king’s 
attendants. Envoys had come from him to 
demand earth and water from each state in 
Greece, as emblems that land and sea were his ; 
but each state was resolved to be free, and only 
Thessaly, that which lay first in his path, con- 
sented to yield the token of subjugation. A 
council was held at the Isthmus of Corinth, and 
attended by deputies from all the states of 
Greece to consider of the best means of defence. 
The ships of the enemy would coast round the 
shores of the Aegean Sea, the land army would 
cross the Hellespont on a bridge of boats lashed 
together, and march southward into Greece. 
The only hope of averting the danger lay in 
defending such passages as, from the nature of 
the ground, were so narrow that only a few 
persons could fight hand to hand at once, so that 
courage would be of more avail than numbers. 


48 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

The first of these passes was called Tempe, 
and a body of troops wa3 sent to guard it ; but 
they found that this was useless and impossible, 
and came back again. The next was at Ther- 
mopylae. Look in your map of the Archipelago, 
or iEgean Sea, as it was then called, for the 
great island of Negropont, or by its old name, 
Euboea. It looks like a piece broken off from 
the coast, and to the north is shaped like the 
head of a bird, with the beak running into a 
gulf, that would fit over it, upon the main land, 
and between the island and the coast is an 
exceedingly narrow strait. The Persian army 
would have to march round the edge of the gulf. 
They could not cut straight across the country, 
because the ridge of mountains called (Eta rose 
Op and barred their way. Indeed, the woods, 
rocks, and precipices came down so near the 
seashore, that in two places there was only 
room for one single wheel track between the 
steeps and the impassable morass that formed the 
border of the gulf on its south side. These two 
very narrow places were called the gates of the 
pass, and were about a mile apart. There was 
a little more width left in the intervening space ; 
but in this there were a number of springs of 
warm mineral water, salt and sulphurous, which 
were used for the sick to bathe in, and thus the 
place was called Thermopylae, or the Hot Gates, 
A wall had once been built across the western- 
most of these narrow places, when the Thessal- 
ians and Phocians, who lived on either side of 
it, had been at war with one another ; but it 
had been allowed to go to decay, since the 


THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 49 1 

Phocians had found out that there was a very 
steep narrow mountain path along the bed of 
a torrent, by which it was possible to cross from 
one territory to the other without going round 
this marshy coast road. 

This was, therefore, an excellent place tt 
defend. The Greek ships were all drawn up 
on the farther side of Euboea to prevent the 
Persian vessels from getting into the strait and 
landing men beyond the pass, and a division of 
the army was sent off to guard the Hot Gates. 
The council at the Isthmus did not know of the 
mountain pathway, and thought that all would 
be safe as long as the Persians were kept out of 
the coast path. 

The troops sent for this purpose were from 
different cities, and amounted to about four 
thousand, who were to keep the pass against 
two millions. The leader of them was Leonidas,, 
who had newly become one of the two kings of 
Sparta, the city that above all in Greece trained 
its sons to be hardy soldiers, dreading death 
infinitely less than shame. Leonidas had 
already made up his mind that the expedition 
would probably be his death, perhaps because a. 
prophecy had been given at the Temple at 
Delphi that Sparta should be saved by the 
death of one of her kings of the race of Her- 
cules. He was allowed by law to take with 
him three hundred men, and these he chose- 
most carefully, not merely for their strength and 
courage, but selecting those who had sons, so* 
that no family might be altogether destroyed. 
These Spartans, with their helots or slaves* 


50 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

made up his own share of the numbers, but all 
the army was under his generalship. It is even 
said that the three hundred celebrated their 
own funeral rites before they set out lest they 
should be deprived of them by the enemy, since, 
as we have already seen, it was the Greek belief 
that the spirits of the dead found no rest till 
their obsequies had been performed. Such 
preparations did not daunt the spirits of Leoni- 
das and his men, and his wife, Gorgo, was not a 
woman to be faint-hearted or to hold him back. 
Long before, when she was a very little girl, a 
word of hers had saved her father from listen- 
ing to a traitorous message from the King of 
Persia ; and every Spartan lady was bred up 
to be able to say to those she best loved that 
they must come home to battle “ with the shield 
or on it ” — either carrying it victoriously or 
borne upon it as a corpse. 

When Leonidas came to Thermopylae, the 
Phocians told him of the mountain path 
through the chestnut woods of Mount (Eta, and 
begged to have the privilege of guarding it on 
a spot high up on the mountain side, assuring 
him that it was very hard to find at the other 
«nd, and that there was every probability that 
the enemy would never discover it. He con- 
sented, and encamping around the warm springs, 
caused the broken wall to be repaired, and made 
ready to meet the foe. 

The Persian army were seen covering the 
whole country like locusts, and the hearts of 
some of the southern Greeks in the pass began 
to sink. Their homes in the Peloponnesus 


THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 51 

were comparatively secure, — had they not 
better fall back and reserve themselves to 
defend the Isthmus of Corinth ? But Leonidas, 
though Sparta was safe below the Isthmus, had 
no intention of abandoning his northern allies, 
and kept the other Peloponnesians to their 
posts, only sending messengers for further help. 

Presently a Persian on horseback rode up to 
reconnoitre the pass. He could not see over the 
wall, but in front of it and on the ramparts, he 
saw the Spartans, some of them engaged in 
active sports, and others in combing their long 
hair. He rode back to the king, and told him 
what he had seen. Now, Xerxes had in his 
camp an exiled Spartan prince, named Demar- 
atus, who had become a traitor to his country, 
and was serving as counselor to the enemy. 
Xerxes sent for him, and asked whether his 
countrymen were mad to be thus employed 
instead of fleeing away ; but Demaratus made 
answer that a hard fight was no doubt in prepa- 
ration, and that it was the custom of the Spar- 
tans to array their hair with especial care when 
they were about to enter upon any great periL 
Xerxes would, however, not believe that so 
petty a force could intend to resist him, and 
waited four days, probably expecting his fleet 
to assist him, but as it did not appear, the at- 
tack was made. 

The Greeks, stronger men and more heavily 
ormed, were far better able to fight to advan- 
tage than the Persians with their short spears 
and wicker shields and beat them off with great 
ease. It is said that Xerxes three times leapt off 


52 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

his throne in despair at the sight of his troops 
being driven backward ; and thus for two days 
it seemed as easy to force a way through the 
Spartans as through the rocks themselves. Nay, 
how could slavish troops, dragged from home 
to spread the victories of an ambitious king, 
fight like freemen who felt that their strokes 
were to defend their homes and children ? 

But on that evening a wretched man, named 
Ephialtes, crept into the Persian camp, and 
offered, for a great sum of money, to show the 
mountain path that would enable the enemy to 
take the brave defenders in the rear ! A Per- 
sian general, named Hydarnes, was sent off at 
nightfall with a detachment to secure this pas- 
sage, and was guided through the thick forests 
that clothed the hillside. In the stillness of the 
air, at daybreak, the Phocian guards of the path 
■were startled by the crackling of the chestnut 
leaves under the tread of many feet. They 
started up, but a shower of arrows was dis- 
charged on them, and forgetting all save the 
present alarm, they fled to a higher part of the 
mountain, and the enemy, without waiting to 
pursue them, began to descend. 

As day dawned, morning light showed the 
watchers of the Grecian camp below a glitter- 
ing and shimmering in the torrent bed where 
the shaggy forests opened : but it was not the 
sparkle of water, but the shine of gilded helmets 
and the gleaming of silvered spears ! Moreover, 
a Cimmerian crept over to the wall from the 
Persian camp with tidings that the path had 
been betrayed, that the enemy were climbing 


THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 53 

it, and would come down beyond the Eastern 
Gate. Still, the way was rugged and circuitous, 
the Persians would hardly descend before mid- 
day, and there was ample time for the Greeks 
to escape before they could thus be shut in by 
the enemy. 

There was a short council held over the 
morning sacrifice. Megistias, the seer, on inspect- 
ing the entrails of the slain victim, declared, as 
well he might, that their appearance boded 
disaster. Him, Leonidas ordered to retire, but 
he refused, though he sent home his only son. 
There was no disgrace to an ordinary tone of 
mind in leaving a post that could not be held, and 
Leonidas recommended all the allied troops 
under his command to march away while yet 
the way was open. As to himself and his Spar- 
tans, they had made up their minds to die at 
their post, and there could be no doubt that 
the example of such a resolution would do more 
to save Greece than their best efforts could ever 
do if they were careful to reserve themselves 
for another occasion. 

All the allies consented to retreat, except the 
eighty men who came from Mycsene and the 
700 Thespians, who declared that they would 
not desert Leonidas. There were also 400 
Thebans who remained ; and thus the whole 
number that stayed with Leonidas to confront 
two millions of enemies were fourteen hundred 
warriors, besides the helots or attendants on the 
300 Spartans, whose number is not known, but 
there was probably at least one to each. Leoni- 
das had two kinsmen in the camp, like himself, 


54 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

claiming the blood of Hercules, and he tried to 
save them by giving them letters and messages 
to Sparta ; but one answered that “ he had come 
to fight, not to carry letters ; ” and the other, 
that “ his deeds would tell all that Sparta wished 
to know.” Another Spartan, named Eienices, 
when told that the enemy’s archers were so 
numerous that their arrows darkened the sun, 
replied, “ So much the better, we shall fight in 
the shade.” Two of the 300 had been sent to 
a neighboring village, suffering severely from a 
complaint in the eyes. One of them, called 
Eurytus, put on his armor, and commanded his 
helot to lead him to his place in the ranks ; the 
other, called Aristodemus, was so overpowered 
with illness that he allowed himself to be carried 
away with the retreating allies. It was still 
early in the day when all were gone, and 
Leonidas gave the word to his men to take their 
last meal. “ To-night,” he said, “ we shall sup 
with Pluto.” 

Hitherto, he had stood on the defensive, and 
had husbanded the lives of his men ; but he 
now desired to make as great a slaughter as 
possible, so as to inspire the enemy with dread 
of the Grecian name. He therefore marched 
out beyond the wall, without waiting to be 
attacked, and the battle began. The Persian 
captains went behind their wretched troops and 
scourged them on to the fight with whips ! Poor 
wretches, they were driven on to be slaughtered, 
pierced with the Greek spears, hurled into the 
sea, or trampled into the mud of the morass ; 
but their inexhaustible numbers told at length. 


THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 55 

The spears of the Greeks broke under hard ser- 
vice, and their swords alone remained; they 
began to fall, and Leonidas himself was among 
the first of the slain. Hotter than ever was 
the fight over his corpse, and two Persian 
princes, brothers of Xerxes, were there killed ; 
but at length word was brought that Hydarnes 
was over the pass, and that the few remaining 
men were thus enclosed on all sides. The 
Spartans and Thespians made their way to a 
little hillock within the wall, resolved to let this 
be the place of their last stand ; but the hearts 
of the Thebans failed them, and they came 
toward the Persians holding out their hands in 
entreaty for mercy. Quarter was given to 
them, but they were all branded with the king’s 
mark as untrustworthy deserters. The helots 
probably at this time escaped into the moun- 
tains : while the small desperate band stood 
side by side on the hill still fighting to 
the last, some with swords, others with dag- 
gers, others even with their hands and teeth, 
till not one living man remained amongst 
them when the sun went down. There was 
only a mound of slain, bristled over with 
arrows. 

Twenty thousand Persians had died before 
that handful of men ! Xerxes asked P)emaratu3 
if there were many more at Sparta like these, 
and was told there were 8000. It must have 
been with a somewhat failing heart that he 
invited his courtiers from the fleet to see what 
he had done to the men who dared to oppose 
him! and showed them the head and^arm of 


£6 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Leonidas set up upon a cross ; but he took care 
that all his own slain, except 1000, should first 
be put out of sight. The body of the brave 
king was buried where he fell, as were those of 
the other dead. Much envied were they by 
the unhappy Aristodemus, who found himself 
ealled by no name but the “ Coward,” and was 
shunned by his fellow-citizens. No one would 
give him fire or water, and after a year of misery, 
he redeemed his honor by perishing in the fore- 
front of the battle of Platsea, which was the last 
blow that drove the Persians ingloriously from 
Greece. 

The Greeks then united in doing honor to 
the brave warriors who, had they been better 
supported, might have saved the whole country 
from invasion. The poet Simonides wrote the 
inscriptions that were engraved upon the pillars 
that were set up in the pass to commemorate 
this great action. One was outside the wall, 
where most of the fighting had been. It seems 
to have been in honor of the whole number, 
•who had for two days resisted : 

“ Here did four thousand men from Pelops’ 
land 

Against three hundred myriads bravely 
stand.” 

In honor of the Spartans was another col- 
umn : — 

“ Go, traveler, to Sparta tell 
That here, obeying her, we fell.” 


THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 57 

On the little hillock of the last resistance was 
placed the figure of a stone lion, in memory of 
Leonidas, so fitly named the lion-like, and 
Simonides, at his own expense, erected a pillar 
to his friend, the seer Megistias : — 

“ The great Megistias’ tomb you here may view, 

Who slew the Medes, fresh from Spercheius 
fords ; 

Well the wise seer the coming death foreknew, 

Yet scorned he to forsake his Spartan lords.” 

The names of the 300 were likewise engraven 
on a pillar at Sparta. 

Lion, pillars, and inscriptions have all long 
since passed away, even the very spot itself has 
changed ; new soil has been formed, and there 
are miles of solid ground between Mount CEta 
and the gulf, so that the Hot Gates no longer 
exist. But more enduring than stone or brass 
— nay, than the very battlefield itself — has 
been the name of Leonidas. Two thousand 
three hundred years have sped since he braced 
himself to perish for his country’s sake in that 
narrow, marshy coast road, under the brow of 
the wooded crags, with the sea by his side. 
Since that time how many hearts have glowed, 
how many arms have been nerved at the 
remembrance of the Pass of Thermopylae, and 
the defeat that was worth so much more than a 
victory ! 


68 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


THE TWO FRIENDS OF SYRACUSE. 
b. c. 380 (circa). 

Most of the best and noblest of the Greeks 
held what was called the Pythagorean philo- 
sophy. This was one of the many systems 
framed by the great men of heathenism, when 
by the feeble light of nature they were, as St. 
Paul says, “ seeking after God, if haply they 
might feel after Him,” like men groping in the 
darkness. Pythagoras lived before the time of 
history, and almost nothing is known about 
him, though his teaching and his name were 
never lost. There is a belief that he had 
traveled in the East, and in Egypt, and as he 
lived about the time of the dispersion of the 
Israelites, it is possible that some of his purest 
and best teaching might have been crumbs 
gathered from their fuller instruction through 
the Law and the Prophets. One thing is plain, 
that even in dealing with heathenism the 
Divine rule holds good, “ By their fruits ye 
shall know them.” Golden Deeds are only to 
be found among men whose belief is earnest 
and sincere, and in something really high and 
noble. Where there was nothing worshiped 
but savage or impure power, and the very form 
of adoration was cruel and unclean, as among 
the Canaanites and Carthaginians, there we 
find no true self-devotion. The great deeds of 
the heathen world were all done by > early 
Greeks and Romans before yet the last gleams 


TWO FRIENDS OF SYRACUSE. 5$ 

of purer light had faded out of their belief, 
and while their moral sense still nerved them 
to energy ; or else by such later Greeks as had 
embraced the deeper and more earnest yearn- 
ings of the minds that had become a “law 
unto themselves.” 

The Pythagoreans were bound together in a 
brotherhood, the members of which had rules 
that are now not understood, but which linked 
them so as to form a sort of club, with common 
religious observances and pursuits of science,, 
especially mathematics and music. And they 
were taught to restrain their passions, especially 
that of anger, and to endure with patience all 
kinds of suffering ; believing that such self- 
restraint brought them nearer to the gods, and 
that death would set them free from the prison 
of the body. The souls of evil-doers would, 
they thought, pass into the lower and more 
degraded animals, while those of good men 
would be gradually purified, and rise to a higher 
existence. This, though lamentably deficient, 
and false in some points, was a real religion, 
inasmuch as it gave a rule of life, with a motive 
for striving for wisdom and virtue. Two friends 
of this Pythagorean sect lived at Syracuse, in 
the end of the fourth century before the Chris- 
tian era. Syracuse was a great Greek city, 
built in Sicily, and full of all kinds of Greek 
art and learning ; but it was a place of danger 
in their time, for it had fallen under the 
tyranny of a man of strange and capricious 
temper, though of great abilities, namely, 
Dionysius. He is said to have been originally 


'60 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

only a clerk in a public office, but his talents 
raised him to continually higher situations, and 
at length, in a great war with the Carthaginians, 
who had many settlements in Sicily, he became 
general of the army, and then found it easy to 
establish his power over the city. 

This power was not according to the laws, for 
Syracuse, like most other cities, ought to have 
been governed by a council of magistrates ; but 
Dionysius was an exceedingly able man, and 
made the city much more rich and powerful ; he 
defeated the Carthaginians, and rendered Syra- 
cuse by far the chief city in the island, and he 
•contrived to make every one so much afraid of 
him that no one durst attempt to overthrow his 
power. He was a good scholar, and very fond 
of philosophy and poetry, and he delighted to 
have learned men around him, and he had 
naturally a generous spirit ; but the sense that 
he was in a position that did not belong to 
him, and that every one hated him for assum- 
ing it, made him very harsh and suspicious. It 
(s of him that the story is told, that he had a 
chamber hollowed in the rock near his state 
prison, and constructed with galleries to con- 
duct sounds like an ear, so that he might over- 
hear the conversation of his captives ; and of 
him, too, is told that famous anecdote which 
has become a proverb, that on hearing a friend, 
named Damocles, express a wish to be in his 
situation for a single day, he took him at his 
word, and Damocles found himself at a banquet 
with everything that could delight his senses, 
delicious food, costly wine, flowers, perfumes. 


TWO FRIENDS OF SYRACUSE. 61 

music ; but with a sword with the point almost 
touching his head, and hanging by a single- 
horse-hair ! This was to show the condition in 
which a usurper lived ! 

Thus Dionysius was in constant dread. He 
had a wide trench round his bedroom, with a 
drawbridge that he drew up and put down with 
his own hands ; and he put one barber to death 
for boasting that he held a razor to the tyrant’s- 
throat every morning. After this he made his 
young daughters shave him ; but by-and-by he 
would not trust them with a razor, and caused 
them to singe off his beard with hot nut-shells! 
He was said to have put a man named Anti- 
phon to death for answering him, when he asked 
what was the best kind of brass, “That of 
which the statues of Harmodius and Aristogei- 
ton were made.” These were the two Athenians- 
who had killed the sons of Pisistratus the- 
tyrant, so that the jest was most offensive, but 
its boldness might have gained forgiveness for 
it. One philosopher, named Philoxenus, he- 
sent to a dungeon for finding fault with his- 
poetry, but he afterward composed another 
piece, which he thought so superior that he- 
could not be content without sending for this- 
adverse critic to hear it. When he had finished 
reading it, he looked to Philoxenus for a com- 
pliment ; but the philosopher only turned round 
to the guards, and said dryly, “ Carry me back 
to prison/” This time Dionysius had the sense 
to laugh, and forgive his honesty. 

All these stories may not be true ; but that 
they should have been current in the ancient 


62 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

world shows what was the character of the man 
of whom they were told, how stern and terrible 
was his anger, and how easily it was incurred. 
Among those who came under it was a Pytha- 
gorean, called Pythias, who was sentenced to 
•death, according to the usual fate of those who 
fell under his suspicion. 

Pythias had lands and relations in Greece, 
.and he entreated as a favor to be allowed to 
return thither and arrange his affairs, engaging 
to return within a specified time to suffer death. 
The tyrant laughed his request to scorn. Once 
.safe out of Sicily, who would answer for his 
return? Pythias made reply that he had a 
friend who would become security for his 
return ; and while Dionysius, the miserable 
man who trusted nobody, was ready to scoff at 
his simplicity, another Pythagorean, by name 
Damon, came forward, and offered to become 
surety for his friend, engaging that, if Pythias 
did not return according to promise, to suffer 
death in his stead. 

Dionysius, much astonished, consented to let 
Pythias go, marveling what would be the issue 
of the affair. Time went on, and Pythias did 
not appear. The Syracusans watched Damon, 
but he showed no uneasiness. He said he was 
secure of his friend’s truth and honor, and that 
if any accident had caused the delay of his 
return, he should rejoice in dying to save the 
life of one so dear to him. 

Even to the last day, Damon continued 
serene and content, however it might fall out ; 
nay, even when the very hour drew nigh and 


BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 63 

still no Pythias. His trust was so perfect, that 
he did not even grieve at having to die for a 
faithless friend who had left him to the fate to 
which he had unwarily pledged himself. It 
was not Pythias’ own will, but the winds and 
waves, so he still declared, when the decree was 
brought and the instruments of death made 
ready. The hour had come, and a few moments 
more would have ended Damon’s life, when 
Pythias duly presented himself, embraced his 
friend, and stood forward himself to receive his 
sentence, calm, resolute, and rejoiced that he 
had come in time. 

Even the dim hope they owned of a future 
state was enough to make these two brave men 
keep their word, and confront death for one 
another without quailing. Dionysius looked 
on more struck than ever. He felt that neither 
of such men must die. He reversed the sen- 
tence of Pythias, and calling the two to his 
judgment-seat he entreated them to admit him 
as a third in their friendship. 


THE BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 
b. c. 180. 

It was about 180 years before the Christian 
era. The Jews had long since come home from 
Babylon, and built up their city and Temple at 
Jerusalem. But they were not free as they had 
been before. Their country belonged to some 


64 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


greater power, they had a foreign governor over 
them, and had to pay tribute to the king who was 
their master. 

At the time we are going to speak of, this king 
was Antiochus Epiphanes, King of Syria. He 
was descended from one of those generals, who, 
upon the death of Alexander the Great, had 
shared the East between them, and he reigned 
over all the country from the Mediterranean 
Sea even into Persia and the borders of India. 
He spoke Greek, and believed in both the Greek 
and Roman gods, for he had spent some time 
at Rome in his youth ; but in his Eastern king- 
dom he had learnt all the self-indulgent and 
violent habits to which people in those hot 
countries are especially tempted. 

He was so fierce and passionate, that he was 
often called the “ Madman,” and he was very 
cruel to all who offended him. One of his great- 
est desires was, that the Jews should leave 
their true faith in one God, and like the Greeks 
and Syrians, his other subjects, worship the 
same idols, and hold drunken feasts in theii 
honor. Sad to say, a great many of the Jews 
had grown ashamed of their own true religion 
and the strict ways of their law, and thought 
them old-fashioned. They joined in the Greek 
sports, played games naked in the theatre, 
joined in riotous processions, carrying ivy in 
honor of Bacchus, the god of wine, and offered 
incense to the idols; and the worst of all these 
was the false high-priest, Menelaus, who led the 
King Antiochus into the Temple itself, even into 
the Holy of Holies, and told him all that would 


BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 65 

most desecrate it and grieve the Jews. So a 
little altar to the Roman god Jupiter was set 
up on the top of the great brazen altar of burnt 
offerings, a hog was offered up, and broth of its 
flesh sprinkled everywhere in the Temple; then 
all the precious vessels were seized, the shew- 
bread table of gold, the candlesticks, and the 
whole treasury, and carried away by the king ; 
the walls were thrown down, and the place made 
desolate. 

Some Jews were still faithful to their God, but 
they were horribly punished and tortured to 
death before the eyes of the king ; and when at 
last he went away to his own country, taking' 
with him the wicked high-priest Menelaus, he 
left behind him a governor and an army of * 
soldiers stationed in the tower of Acra, which. , 
overlooked the Temple hill, and sent for an t 
old man from Athens to teach the people the; 
heathen rites and ceremonies. Any person who* 
observed the Sabbath day, or any other ordi- 
nance of the law of Moses, was put to death im 
a most cruel manner ; all the books of the Old 
Testament Scripture that could be found were 
either burnt or defiled, by having pictures of 
Greek gods painted upon them ; and the heathen 
priests went from place to place, with a little 
brazen altar and image and a guard of soldiers, 
who were to kill every person who refused to 
burn incense before the idol. It was the very 
saddest time that the Jews had ever known, 
and there seemed to be no help near or far off; 
they could have no hope, except in the promises 
that God would never fail His people, or forsake 


66 BOOK OK GOLDEN DEEDS. 

His inheritance, and in the prophecies that bad 
times should come, but good ones after them. 

The Greeks, in going through the towns tc 
enforce the idol worship, came to a little city 
called Modin, somewhere on the hills on the 
coast of the Mediterranean Sea, not far from 
Joppa. There they sent out, as usual, orders to 
all the men of the town to meet them in the 
market-place ; but they were told beforehand, 
that the chief person in the place was an old 
man named Mattathias, of a priestly family, and 
«o much respected, that all the other inhabitants 
'of the place were sure to do whatever he might 
lead them in. So the Greeks sent for him first 
of all, and he came at their summons, a grand 
•and noble old man, followed by his five sons, 
Johanan, Simon, Judas, Jonathan, and Eleazar. 
‘The Greek priest tried to talk him over. He 
ttold him that the high-priest had forsaken the 
Jewish superstition, that the Temple was in 
ruins, and that resistance was in vain ; and 
exhorted him to obtain gratitude and honor for 
himself, by leading his countrymen in thus ador- 
ing the deities of the king’s choice, promising 
him rewards and treasures if he would comply. 

But the old man spoke out with a loud and 
fearless voice : “ Though all the nations that 
are under the king’s dominion obey him, and 
fall away every one from the religion of their 
fathers, and give consent to his commandments; 
yet will I and my sons and my brethren walk 
in the covenant of our fathers. God forbid that 
we should forsake the law and the ordinances ! 
We will not hearken to the king’s words, to go 


BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 67 

from our religion, either on the right hand or 
the left!” 

As he spoke, up came an apostate Jew to do 
sacrifice at the heathen altar. Mattathias trem- 
bled at the sight, and his zeal broke forth. He 
slew the offender, and his brave sons gathering 
round him, they attacked the Syrian soldiers, 
killed the commissioner, and threw down the 
altar. Then, as they knew that they could not 
there hold out against the king’s power, Matta- 
thias proclaimed through the city : “ Whoso- 
ever is zealous of the law, and maintaineth 
the covenant, let him follow me ! ” With 
that, he and his five sons, with their fami- 
lies, left their houses and lands, and drove 
their cattle with them up into the wild hills and 
caves, where David had once made his home ; 
and all the Jews who wished to be still faithful, 
gathered round them, to worship God and keep 
His commandments. 

There they were, a handful of brave men in 
the mountains, and all the heathen world and 
apostate Jews against them. They used to 
come down into the villages, remind the people 
of the law, promise their help, and throw down 
any idol altars that they found, and the enemy 
never were able to follow them into their rocky 
strongholds. But the old Mattathias could not 
long bear the rude wild life in the cold moun- 
tains, and he soon died. First he called all his 
five sons, and bade them to “ be zealous for the 
law, and give their lives for the covenant of 
their fathers ; ” and he reminded them of all the 
many brave men who had before served God* 


63 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

and been aided in their extremity. He ap- 
pointed his son Judas, as the strongest and 
mightiest, to lead his brethren to battle, and 
Simon, as the wisest, to be their counselor ; 
then he blessed them and died, and his sons 
were able to bury him in the tomb of his 
fathers at Modin. 

Judas was one of the bravest men who ever 
lived ; never dreading the numbers that came 
against him. He was surnamed Maccabeus, 
which some people say meant the hammerer ; 
but others think it was made up of the first 
letters of the words he carried on his banner, 
which meant, “ Who is like unto Thee, among 
the gods, O Lord ! ” Altogether he had about 
six thousand men round him when the Greek 
governor, Apollonius, came out to fight with him. 
The Jews gained here their first great victory, 
and Judas killed Apollonius, took his sword and 
fought all his other battles with it. Next came a 
captain called Seron, who went out to the hills 
to lay hold of the bold rebels that dared to rise 
against the King of Syria. The place where 
Judas met him was one to make the Jews’ hearts 
leap with hope and trust. It was on the steep, 
stony, broken hillside of Beth-horon, the very 
place where Joshua had conquered the five kings 
of the Amorites, in the first battle on the coming 
in of the children of Israel to Palestine. There 
was the rugged path where Joshua had stood and 
called out to the sun to stand still in Gibeon, and 
the moon in the valley of Ajalon. Miracles were 
over, and Judas looked for no wonder to help 
him ; but when he came up the mountain road 


BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 69 

from Joppa, his heart was full of the same trust 
as Joshua’s, and he won another great victory. 

By this time King Antiochus began to think 
the rising of the Jews a serious matter, but he 
could not come himself against them, because 
his provinces in Armenia and Persia had 
refused their tribute, and he had to go in per- 
son to reduce them. He appointed, however, a 
governor, named Lysias, to chastise the Jews, 
giving him an army of 40,000 foot and 7000 
horse. Half of these Lysias sent on before him, 
with two captains, named Nicanor and Gorgias, 
thinking that these would be more than enough 
to hunt down and crush the little handful that 
were lurking in the hills. And with them came 
a great number of slave merchants, who had 
bargained with Nicanor that they should have 
ninety Jews for one talent, to sell to the Greeks 
and Bo mans, by whom Jewish slaves were much, 
esteemed. 

There was great terror in Palestine at these 
tidings, and many of the weaker-minded fell 
away from Judas ; but he called all the faithful 
together at Mizpeh,the same place where, 1000 
years before, Samuel had collected the Israelites, 
and, after prayer and fasting, had sent them 
forth to free their country from the Philistines. 
Shiloh, the sanctuary, was then lying desolate, 
just as Jerusalem now lay in ruins; and yet 
better times had cone. 3ut very mournful 
was that fast day at Mizpeh, as the Jews looked 
along the hillside to their own holy mountain, 
crowned by no white marble and gold Temple 
flashing back the sunbeams, but only with the 


70 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

tall castle of their enemies towering over the 
precipice. They could not sacrifice, because a 
sacrifice could only be made at Jerusalem, and 
the only book of the Scriptures that they had to 
read from was painted over with the hateful idol 
figures of the Greeks. And the huge army of 
enemies was ever coming nearer ! The whole 
assembly wept, and put on sackcloth and prayed 
aloud for help, and then there was a loud sound- 
ing of trumpets, and Judas stood forth before 
them. And he made the old proclamation that 
Moses had long ago decreed, that no one should 
go out to battle who was building a house, or 
planting a vineyard, or had just betrothed a 
wife, or who was fearful and faint-hearted. All 
these were to go home again. Judas had 6000 
followers when he made this proclamation. He 
had only 3000 at the end of the day, and they 
were but poorly armed. He then told them of 
the former aid that had come to their fathers in 
extremity, and made them bold with his noble 
words. Then he gave them for their watch- 
word “ the help of God,” and divided the leader- 
ship of the band between himself and his 
brothers, appointing Eleazar, the youngest, to 
read the Holy Book. 

With these valiant men Judas set up hi 3 
camp ; but tidings were soon brought him that 
Gorgias, with 5000 foot and 1000 horse, had 
left the main body to fall on his little camp by 
night. He therefore secretly left the place in 
the twilight ; so that when the enemy attacked 
his camp, they found it deserted, and supposing 
them to be hid in the mountains, proceeded 
thither in pursuit of them. 


BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 71 

But in the early morning Judas and his 3000 
men were all in battle array in the plains, and 
marching full upon the enemy’s camp with 
trumpet sound, took them by surprise in the 
absence of Gorgias and his choice troops, and 
utterly defeated and put them to flight, but 
without pursuing them, since the fight with 
Gorgias and his 5000 might be yet to come. 
Even as Judas was reminding his men of this 
Gorgias’ troops were seen looking down from 
the mountains where they had been wandering 
all night ; but seeing their own camp all smoke 
and flame, they turned and fled away. Nine 
thousand of the invaders had been slain, and 
the whole camp, full of arms and treasures, was 
in the hands of Judas, who there rested for a 
Sabbath of glad thanksgiving, and the next day 
parted the spoils, first putting out the share for 
the widows and orphans and the wounded, and 
then dividing the rest among his warriors. As 
to the slave merchants, they were all made pris- 
oners, and instead of giving a talent for ninety 
Jews, were sold themselves. 

The next year Lysias came himself, but was 
driven back and defeated at Bethshur, four or 
five miles south of Bethlehem. And now came 
the saddest, yet the greatest, day of Judas’ life, 
when he ventured to go back into the holy city 
and take possession of the Temple again. The 
strong tower of Acra, which stood on a ridge 
of Mount Moriah looking down on the Temple 
rock, was still held by the Syrians, and he had 
no means of taking it ; but he and his men loved 
the sanctuary too well to keep away from it, and 


72 


rfOOK OP GOLDEN DEEDS. 


again they marched up the steps and slopes that 
led up the holy hill. They went up to find the 
walls broken, the gates burnt, the cloisters and 
priests’ chambers pulled down, and the courts 
thickly grown with grass and shrubs, the altar of 
their one true God with the false idol Jupiter’s 
altar in the middle of it. These warriors, who 
had turned three armies to flight, could not bear 
the sight. They fell down on their faces, threw 
dust on their heads, and wept aloud for the deso- 
lation of their holy place. But in the midst Judas 
caused the trumpets to sound an alarm. They 
were to do something besides grieving. The 
bravest of them were set to keep w atch and ward 
against the Syrians in the tower, while he chose 
out the most faithful priests to cleanse out the 
sanctuary, and renew all that could be renewed, 
making new holy vessels from the spoil taken in 
.Nicanor’s camp, and setting the stones of the 
profaned altar apart w T hile a new 7 one was raised. 
On the third anniversary of the great profana- 
tion, the Temple w 7 as newly dedicated, w ith songs 
and hymns of rejoicing, and a festival day was 
appointed, which has been observed by the Jews 
ever since. The Temple rock and city were 
again fortified so as to be able to hold out 
against their enemies, and this year and the 
next were the most prosperous of the life of the 
loyal-hearted Maccabee. 

The great enemy of the Jews, Antiochus 
Epiphanes, w r as in the meantime dying in great 
agony in Persia, and his son Antiochus Eupator 
was set on the throne by Lysias, who brought 
-with him an enormous army to reduce the rising 


BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 75 

sti Judea. The fight was again at Bethshur, 
where Judas had built a strong fort on a point 
of rock that guarded the road to Hebron. 
Lysias tried to take this fort, and Judas came 
to the rescue with his little army, to meet the 
far mightier Syrian force, which was made more 
terrific by possessing thirty war elephants im- 
ported from the Indian frontier. Each of these 
creatures carried a tower containing thirty-two 
men armed with darts and javelins, and an 
Indian driver on his neck ; and they had 1000 
foot and 500 horse attached to the special fol- 
lowing of the beast, who, gentle as he was by 
nature, often produced a fearful effect on the 
enemy ; not so much by his huge bulk as by the 
terror he inspired among men, and far more 
among horses. The whole host was spread over the 
mountains, and in the valleys, so that it is said 
that their bright armor and gold and silver shields 
made the mountain glisten like lamps of fire. 

Still Judas pressed on to the attack, and hia 
brother Eleazar, perceiving that one of the ele- 
phants was more adorned than the rest, thought 
it might be carrying the king, and devoted 
himself for his country. He fought his way to 
the monster, crept under it, and stabbed it from 
beneath, so that the mighty weight sank down 
on him and crushed him to death in his fall. 
He gained a “ perpetual name ” for valor and 
self-devotion ; but the king was not upon the 
elephant, and after a hard-fought battle, Judas 
was obliged to draw off and leave Bethshur to 
be taken by the enemy, and to shut himself up 
in Jerusalem. 


74 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

There, want of provisions had brought him 
to great distress, when tidings came that another 
son of Antiochus Epiphanes had claimed the 
throne, and Lysias made peace in haste with 
Judas, promising him full liberty of worship, 
and left Palestine in peace. 

This did not, however, last long. Lysias and 
his young master were slain by the new king, 
Demetrius, who again sent an army for the sub- 
jection of Judas, and further appointed a high- 
priest, named Alcimus, of the family of Aaron, 
but inclined to favor the new heathen fashions. 

This was the most fatal thing that had hap- 
pened to Judas. Though of the priestly line, 
he was so much of a warrior, that he seems to 
have thought it would be profane to offer sacri- 
fice himself; and many of the Jews were so 
glad of another high-priest, that they let Alci- 
mus into the Temple, and Jerusalem was again 
lost to Judas. One more battle was won by~ 
him at Beth-horon, and then finding how hard 
it was to make head against the Syrians, he 
sent to ask the aid of the great Roman power. 
But long before the answer could come, a huge 
Syrian army had marched in on the Holy Land, 
20,000 men, and Judas had again no more 
than 3000. Some had gone over to Alcimus, 
some were offended at his seeking Roman alli- 
ance, and when at Eleasah he came in sight of 
the host, his men’s hearts failed more than ever 
they had done before, and out of the 3000 at 
first collected, only 800 stood with him, and 
they would fain have persuaded him to retreat. 

“ God forbid that I should do this thing,” he 


WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH. 75 

said, “ and flee away from them. If our time 
be come, let us die manfully for our brethren, 
and let us not stain our honor.” 

Sore was the battle, as sore as that waged by 
the 800 at Thermopylae, and the end was the 
•same. Judas and his 800 were not driven from 
the field, but lay dead upon it. But their work 
was done. What is called the moral effect of 
such a defeat goes further than many a victory. 
Those lives, sold so dearly, were the price of 
freedom for Judea. 

Judas’ brothers Jonathan and Simon laid 
him in his father’s tomb, and then ended the 
work that he had begun ; and when Simon died, 
the Jews, once so trodden on, were the most 
prosperous race in the East. The Temple was 
raised from its ruins, and the exploits of the 
Maccabees had nerved the whole people to do or 
die in defence of the holy faith of their fathers. 

o 

WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH IN 
HIS WRATH. 

a. d. 389. 

When a monarch’s power is unchecked by 
his people, there is only One to whom he be* 
lieves himself accountable ; and if he has for- 
gotten the dagger of Damocles, or if he be too 
high-spirited to regard it, then that Higher One 
alone can restrain his actions. And there have 
been times when princes have so broken the 


76 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

bonds of right, that no hope remains of recal- 
ling them to their duty save by the voice of the 
ministers of God upon Earth. But as these 
ministers bear no charmed life and are subjects 
themselves of the prince, such rebukes have 
been given at the utmost risk of liberty and 
life. 

Thus it was that though Nathan, unharmed, 
showed David his sin, and Elijah, the wondrous 
prophet of Gilead, was protected from Jezebel’s 
fury, when he denounced her and her husband 
Ahab for the idolatry of Baal and the murder 
of Naboth ; yet no divine hand interposed to 
shield Zachariah, the son of Jehoiada, the high 
priest, when he rebuked the apostasy of his 
cousin, Jehoash, King of Judah, and was stoned 
to death by the ungrateful king’s command in 
that very temple court where Jehoiada and his 
armed Levites had encountered the savage, 
usurping Athaliah, and won back the kingdom 
for the child Jehoash. And when, “in the 
spirit and power of Elijah,” St. John the Bap- 
tist denounced the sin of Herod Antipas in 
marrying his brother Philip’s wife, he bore the 
consequences to the utmost, when thrown into 
prison and then beheaded to gratify the rage 
of the vindictive woman. 

Since Scripture Saints in the age of miracles 
were not always shielded from the wrath of 
kings, Christian bishops could expect no special 
interposition in their favor, when they stood 
forth to stop the way of the sovereign’s passions, 
and to proclaim that the cause of mercy, purity, 
and truth is the cause of God. 


WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH. 77 

The first of these Christian bishops was 
Ambrose, the sainted prelate of Milan. It was 
indeed a Christian emperor whom he opposed, 
no other than the great Theodosius, but it 
was a new and unheard of thing for any 
voice to rebuke an Emperor of Rome, and 
Theodosius had proved himself a man of violent 
passions. 

The fourth century was a time when races 
and all sorts of shows were the fashion, nay, 
literally the rage; for furious quarrels used to 
arise among the spectators who took the part 
of one or other of the competitors, and would 
call themselves after their colors, the blues or 
the greens. A favorite chariot-driver, who had 
excelled in these races at Thessalonica, was 
thrown into prison for some misdemeanor by 
Botheric, the ^Governor of Illyria, and his ab- 
sence so enraged the Thessalonican mob, that 
they rose in tumult and demanded his restora- 
tion. On being refused, they threw such a hail 
of stones that the governor himself and some 
of his officers were slain. 

Theodosius might well be displeased, but his 
rage passed all bounds. He was at Milan at 
the time, and at first Ambrose so worked on his 
feelings as to make him promise to temper 
justice with mercy ; but afterward, fresh ac- 
counts of the murder, together with the repre- 
gentations of his courtier Rufinus, made him 
reeolve not to relent, and he sent off messengers 
commanding that there should be a general 
slaughter of all the race-going Thessalonicans, 
tince all were equally guilty of Botheric^ 


78 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

<leath. He took care that his horrible com- 
mand should be kept a secret from Ambrose, 
and the first that the bishop heard of it was 
the tidings that 7000 persons had been killed 
in the theatre, in a massacre lasting three 
hours ! 

There was no saving these lives, but Ambrose 
felt it his duty to make the emperor feel his 
sin, in hopes of saving others. Besides, it was 
not consistent with the honor of God to receive 
at his altar a man reeking with innocent blood. 
The bishop, however, took time to consider; 
he went into the country for a few days, and 
thence wrote a letter to the emperor, telling 
him that thus stained with crime, he could not 
be admitted to the Holy Communion, nor re- 
ceived into church. Still the emperor does 
not seem to have believed he could be really 
withstood by any subject, and on Ambrose’s 
return, he found the imperial procession, lictors, 
guards and all, escorting the emperor as usual 
to the Basilica or Justice Hall, that had been 
turned into a church. 

Then to the door came the bishop and stood 
in the way, forbidding the entrance, and an- 
nouncing that there at least, sacrilege should 
not be added to murder. 

i( Nay,” said the emperor, “ did not holy 
King David commit both murder and adultery, 
yet was not he received again ? ” 

“ If you have sinned like him, repent like 
him,” answered Ambrose. 

Theodosius turned away troubled. He was 
great enough not to turn his anger against the 


WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH. 79 

bishop ; he felt that he had sinned, and that 
the chastisement was merited, and he went back 
to his palace weeping, and there spent eight 
months, attending to his duties of state, but too 
proud to go through the tokens of penitence 
that the discipline of the church had prescribed 
before a great sinner could be received back 
into the congregation of the faithful. Easter 
was the usual time for reconciling penitents, 
and Ambrose was not inclined to show any re- 
spect of persons, or to excuse the emperor 
from a penance he would have imposed on 
any offender. However, Rufinus could not 
believe in such disregard, and thought all would 
give way to the emperor’s will. Christmas had 
come, but for one man at Milan there were no 
hymns, no shouts of “ glad tidings ! ” no mid- 
night festival, no rejoicing that “ to us a Child 
is born ; to us a Son is given.” The Basilica 
was thronged with worshipers and rang with 
their Amens, resounding like thunder, and their 
echoing song — the Te Deum — then their newest 
hymn of praise. But the lord of all those 
multitudes was alone in his palace. He had 
not shown good-will to man ; he had not learnt 
mercy and peace from the Prince of Peace ; 
and the door was shut upon him. He was a 
resolute Spanish Roman, a well-tried soldier, a 
man advancing in years, but he wept, and wept 
bitterly. Rufinus found him thus weeping. It 
must have been strange to the courtier that his 
master did not send his lictors to carry the 
offending bishop to a dungeon, and give all his 
court-favo"* to the heretic*, like the last empress 


80 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

who had reigned at Milan. Nay, lie might 
even, like Julian, the Apostate, have altogether 
renounced that Christian faith which could 
humble an emperor below the poorest of his 
subjects. 

But Rufinus contented himself with urging 
the emperor not to remain at home lamenting, 
but to endeavor again to obtain admission into 
the church, assuring him that the bishop would 
give way. Theodosius replied that he did not 
expect it, but yielded to the persuasions, and 
Rufinus hastened on before to w T arn the bishop 
of his coming, and represented how inexpedient 
it was to offend him. 

“I warn you,” replied Ambrose, “that I 
shall oppose his entrance, but if he chooses to> 
turn his power into tyranny, I shall willingly 
let him slay me.” 

The emperor did not try to enter the church, 
but sought Ambrose in an adjoining building, 
where he entreated to be absolved from his sin. 

“ Beware,” returned the bishop, “ of tramp- 
ling on the laws of God.” 

“ I respect them,” said the emperor, “ there- 
fore I have not set foot in the church, but I 
pray thee to deliver me from these bonds, and 
not to close against me the door that the Lord 
hath opened to all who truly repent.” 

“ What repentance have you shown for such 
a sin ? ” asked Ambrose. 

“ Appoint my penance,” said the emperor, 
entirely subdued. 

And Ambrose caused him at once to sign a 
decree that thirty days should always elapse? 


WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH. 81 

between a sentence of death and its execution. 
After this, Theodosius was allowed to come 
into the church, but only to the corner he had 
shunned all these eight months, till the “ dull 
hard stone within him” had “melted,” to the 
spot appointed for the penitents. There, with- 
out his crown, his purple robe, and buskins,, 
worked with golden eagles, all laid aside, he 
lay prostrate on the stones, repeating the verse, 
“ My soul cleaveth unto the dust ; quicken me, 
O Lord, according to thy word.” This was the 
place that penitents always occupied, and their 
fasts and other discipline were also appointed. 
When the due course had been gone through, 
probably at the next Easter, Ambrose, in his 
Master’s name, pronounced the forgiveness of 
Theodosius, and received him back to the full 
privileges of a Christian. When we look at 
the course of many another emperor, and see 
how easily, where the power was irresponsible, 
justice became severity, and severity blood- 
thirstiness, we see what Ambrose dared to meet, 
and from w’hat he spared Theodosius and all 
the civilized world under his sway. Who can 
tell how many innocent lives have been saved 
by that thirty days’ respite ? 

Pass over nearly seven hundred years, and 
again we find a church door barred against a 
monarch. This time it is not under the bright 
Italian sky, but under the gray fogs of the 
Baltic Sea. It is not the stately marble gate- 
way of the Milanese Basilica, but the low-arched, 
rough stone portal of the newly-built cathedral 
of Roskilde, in Zealand, where, if a zigzag sur- 


82 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

rounds the arch, it is a great effort of genius. 
The Danish King Swend, the nephew of the 
well-known Kniit, stands before it ; a stern and 
powerful man, fierce and passionate, and with 
many a Danish axe at his command. Nay. 
only lately, for a few rude jests, he caused some 
of his chief jarls to be slain without a trial. 
Half the country is still pagan, and though the 
king himself is baptized, there is no certainty 
that, if the Christian faith does not suit his taste, 
lie may not join the heathen party and return 
to the worship of Thor and Tyr, where deeds 
of blood would be not blameworthy, but a pass- 
port to the rude joys of Valhall. Nevertheless 
there is a pastoral staff across the doorway, 
barring the way of the king, and that staff is 
held against him by an Englishman, William, 
Bishop of Roskilde, the missionary who had 
converted a great part of Zealand, but who will 
not accept Christians who have not laid aside 
their s' ns. 

He confronts the king who has never been 
opposed before. “ Go back,” he says, “ nor 
dare approach the altar of God — thou who art 
not a king but a murderer.” 

Some of the jarls seized their swords and axes, 
and were about to strike the bishop away from 
the threshold, but he, without removing his 
staff, bent his head, and bade them strike, say- 
ing he was ready to die in the cause of God. 
But the king came to a better frame of mind, 
he called the jarls away, and, returning humbly 
to his palace, took off his royal robes, and came 
again barefoot and in sackcloth to the church 


THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 83 

door, where Bishop William met him, took him 
by the hand, gave him the kiss of peace and 
led him to the penitents’ place. After three 
days he was absolved, and for the rest of his 
life the bishop and the king lived in the closest 
friendship, so much so that William always 
prayed that even in death he might not be 
divided from his friend. The prayer was granted. 
The two died almost at the same time, and 
were buried together in the cathedral at Ros- 
kilde, where the one had taught and the other 
learnt the great lesson of mercy. 

o 

THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 
a. d. 404. 

As the Romans grew prouder and more fond 
of pleasure, no one could hope to please them 
who did not give them sports and entertain- 
ments. When any person wished to be elected 
to any public office, it was a matter of course 
that he should compliment his fellow-citizens 
by exhibitions of the kind they loved, and when 
the common people were discontented their cry 
was that they wanted panem ac Circenses , 
** bread and sports,” the only things they cared 
for. In most places where there has been a 
large Roman colony, remains can be seen of the 
amphitheatres, where the citizens were wont to 
assemble for these diversions. Sometimes these 
are stages of circular galleries of seats hewn out 


84 BOOK OF ctOLDEN DEEDS. 

of the hillside, where rows of spectators might 
sit one above the other, all looking down on a 
broad, flat space in the centre, under their feet, 
where the representations took place. Some- 
times, when the country was flat, or it was easier 
to build than to excavate, the amphitheatre was 
raised above ground, rising up to a considerable 
height. 

The grandest and most renowned of all these 
amphitheatres is the Colosseum at Rome. It 
was built by Vespasian and his son Titus, the 
conquerors of Jerusalem, in a valley in the 
midst of the seven hills of Rome. The captive 
Jews were forced to labor at it ; and the mate- 
rials, granite outside, and softer travertine stone 
within, are so solid and so admirably built, that 
still, at the end of eighteen centuries, it has 
scarcely even become a ruin, but remains one 
of the greatest wonders of Rome. 

Five acres of ground were enclosed within 
the oval of its outer wall, which outside rises 
perpendicularly in tiers of arches one above the 
other. Within, the galleries of seats projected 
forward, each tier coming out far beyond the 
one above it, so that between the lowest and 
the outer wall there was room for a great space 
of chambers, passages, and vaults around the 
central space, called the arena, from the arena , 
or sand, with which it was strewn. 

When the Roman emperors grew very vain 
and luxurious, they used to have this sand 
made ornamental with metallic filings, ver- 
milion, and even powdered precious stones; 
but it was thought better taste to use the 


THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 85 

scrapings of a soft, white stone, which, when 
thickly strewn, made the whole arena look as 
if covered with untrodden snow. Around the 
border of this space flowed a stream of fresh 
water. Then came a straight wall, rising to a 
considerable height, and surmounted by a broad 
platform, on which stood a throne for the em- 
peror, curule chairs of ivory and gold for the 
chief magistrates and senators, and seats for 
the vestal virgins. Next above were galleries 
for the equestrian order, the great mass of those 
who considered themselves as of gentle station, 
though not of the highest rank ; farther up, and 
therefore farther back, were the galleries belong- 
ing to the freemen of Rome ; and these were 
again surmounted by another plain wall with 
a platform at the top, where were places for 
the ladies, who were not (except the vestal 
virgins) allowed to look on nearer, because of 
the unclothed state of some of the performers 
in the arena. Between the ladies’ boxes, 
benches were squeezed in where the lowest 
people could seat themselves ; and some of 
these likewise found room in the two upper- 
most tiers of porticoes, where sailors, mechanics, 
and persons in the service of the Colosseum had 
their post. Altogether, when full, this huge 
building held no less than 87,000 spectators. 
It had no roof ; but when there was rain, or if 
the sun was too hot, the sailors in the porticoes 
unfurled awnings that ran along upon ropes, 
and formed a covering of silk and gold tissue 
over the whole. Purple was the favorite color 
for this velamen, or veil; because when the 


86 BOwK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

gun shone through it, it cast such beautiful 
rosy tints on the snowy arena and the white 
purple-edged togas of the Roman citizens. 

Long days were spent from morning till 
evening upon those galleries. The multitude 
who poured in early would watch the great 
dignitaries arrive and take their seats, greeting 
them either with shouts of applause or hootings 
of dislike, according as they were favorites or 
otherwise; and when the emperor came in to 
take his place under his canopy, there was one 
loud acclamation, “ Joy to thee, master of all, 
first of all, happiest of all. Victory to thee 
forever ! ” 

When the emperor had seated himself and 
given the signal, the sports began. Sometimes 
a rope dancing elephant would begin the enter- 
tainment, by mounting even to the summit of 
the building and descending by a cord. Then 
a bear, dressed up as a Roman matron, would 
be carried along in a chair between porters, as 
ladies were wont to go abroad, and another 
bear, in a lawyer’s robe, would stand on his 
hind legs and go through the motions of plead- 
ing a cause. Or a lion came forth with a 
jeweled crown on his head, a diamond neck- 
lace around his neck, his mane plated with 
gold, and his claws gilded, and played a hun- 
dred pretty gentle antics with a little hare that 
danced fearlessly within his grasp. Then in 
would come twelve elephants, six males in the 
toga, six females with the veil and pallium; 
they took their places on couches around an 
ivory table, dined with great decorum, play- 


THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 87 

fully sprinkling a little rose-water over the 
nearest spectators, and then received more 
guests of their own unwieldy kind, who arrived 
in ball dresses, scattered flowers and performed 
a dance. 

Sometimes water was let into the arena, a 
ship sailed in and falling to pieces in the midst, 
sent a crowd of strange animals swimming in 
all directions. Sometimes the ground opened, 
and trees came growing up through it, bearing 
golden fruit. Or the beautiful old tale of 
Orpheus was acted : these trees would follow the 
harp and song of the musician ; but — to make the 
whole part complete — it w r as no mere play, but 
real earnest, that the Orpheus of the piece fell a 
prey to live bears. 

For the Colosseum had not been built for 
such harmless spectacles as those first described. 
The fierce Romans wanted to be excited and 
feel themselves strongly stirred ; and, presently, 
the doors of the pits and dens around the arena 
were thrown open, and absolutely savage beasts 
were let loose upon one another, — rhinoceroses 
and tigers, bulls and lions, leopards and wild 
boars, — while the people watched with savage 
curiosity to see the various kinds of attack and 
defence ; or, if the animals were cowed or sullen 
their rage would be worked up — red would be 
shown to bulls, white to boars, red-hot goads 
would be driven into some, whips w r ould be 
lashed at others, till the work of slaughter was 
fairly commenced, and gazed on with greedy 
eyes, and ears delighted, instead of horror-struck, 
by the roars and howls of the noble creatures 


88 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

whose courage was thus misused. Sometimes, 
indeed, when some especially strong or ferocious 
animal had slain a whole heap of victims, the 
-cries of the people would decree that it should 
be turned loose in its native forest, and, amid 
shouts of “A triumph! — a triumph!” the 
beast would prowl round the arena, upon the 
carcasses of the slain victims. Almost incredi- 
ble numbers of animals were imported for these 
cruel sports, and the governors of distant prov- 
inces made it a duty to collect troops of lions, 
elephants, ostriches, leopards, — the fiercer or 
the newer the creature the better, — to be thus 
tortured to frenzy, to make sport in the amphi- 
theatre. However, there "was daintiness joined 
with cruelty : the Romans did not like the 
smell of blood, though they enjoyed the sight 
<of it, and all the solid stone-work was pierced 
with tubes, through which was conducted the 
steam of spices and saffron, boiled wine, that 
the perfume might overpower the scent of the 
slaughter below. 

Wild beasts tearing each other to pieces 
might, one would think, satisfy any taste for 
-horror ; but the spectators needed even nobler 
game to be set before their favorite monsters, — 
men were brought forward to confront them. 
Some of these were, at first, in full armor, and 
fought hard, generally with success ; and there 
was a revolving machine, something like a 
squirrel’s cage, in which the bear was always 
climbing after his enemy, and then rolling over 
by his own weight. Or hunters came, almost 
unarmed, and gained the victory by swiftness 


THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 89 

and dexterity, throwing a piece of cloth over a 
lion’s head, or disconcerting him by putting 
their fist down his throat. But it was not only 
skill, but death the Romans loved to see ; and 
condemned criminals and deserters were reserved 
to feast the lions, and to entertain the populace 
with their various kinds of death. Among 
these condemned was many a Christian martyr, 
who witnessed a good confession before the 
savage-eyed multitude around the arena, and 
4< met the lion’s gory mane ” with a calm reso- 
lution and hopeful joy that the lookers-on could 
not understand. To see a Christian die, with 
upward gaze and hymns of joy on his tongue, 
was the most strange and unaccountable sight 
the Colosseum could offer, and it was therefore 
the choicest, and reserved for the last of the 
spectacles in which the brute creation had a part. 

The carcasses were dragged off with hooks, 
the blood-stained sand was covered with a fresh 
clean layer, the perfume was wafted in stronger 
clouds, and a procession came forward, — tall, 
well-made men, in the prime of their strength. 
Some carried a sword and a lasso, others a 
trident and a net ; some were in light armor, 
others in the full, heavy equipment of a soldier ; 
some on horseback, some in chariots, some on 
foot. They marched in, and made their obeis- 
ance to the emperor ; and with one voice their 
greeting sounded through the building, Ave , 
Ccesanr , moritari te salutant ! “Hail, Caesar, 
those about to die salute thee ! ” 

They were the gladiators, — the swordsmen 
trained to fight to the death to amuse the popu- 


90 BOOK OP GOLDEN DEEDS. 

lace. They were usually slaves placed in 
schools of arms under the care of a master ; 
but sometimes persons would voluntarily hire 
themselves out to fight by way of a profession ; 
and both these, and such slave-gladiators as 
did not die in the arena, would sometimes 
retire, and spend an old age of quiet ; but 
there was little hope of this, for the Romans 
were not apt to have mercy on the fallen. 

Fights of all sorts took place, — the light- 
armed soldier and the netsman, — the lasso and 
the javelin, — the two heavy-armed warriors, — 
all combinations of single combat, and some- 
times a general melee. AVhen a gladiator 
wounded his adversary, he shouted to the 
spectators, Hoc habet ! “ He has it ! ” and 

looked up to know whether he should kill or 
spare. If the people held up their thumbs, 
the conquered was left to recover, if he could ; 
if they turned them down, he was to die : and 
if he showed any reluctance to present his 
throat for the death-blow, there was a scornful 
shout, Recipe ferrum ! “ Receive the steel ! ” 
Many of us must have seen casts of that most 
touching statue of the wounded man, that 
called forth the noble lines of indignant pity 
which, though so often repeated, cannot be 
passed over here : 

“ I see before me the gladiator lie ; 

He leans upon his hand, — his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony. 

And his drooped head sinks gradually low, 
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 


THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 91 

From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one. 
Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
The arena swims around him, — he is gone 
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed 
the wretch who won. 

“ lie heard it, but he heeded not, — his eyes 
AVere with his heart, and that was far away 
He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize. 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
There were his young barbarians all at play. 
There was their Dacian mother, — he their 
sire, 

Butchered to make a Roman holiday. 

All this rushed with his blood, — Shall h& 
expire, 

And unavenged ? Arise, ye Goths, and glut 
your ire.” 

Sacred vestals, tender mothers, fat, good- 
humored senators, all thought it fair play, and 
were equally pitiless in the strange frenzy for 
exciting scenes to which they gave themselves 
up, when they mounted the stone stairs of the 
Colosseum. Privileged persons would even 
descend into the arena, examine the death- 
agonies, and taste the blood of some specially 
brave victim ere the corpse was drawn forth at 
the death-gate, that the frightful game might 
continue undisturbed and unencumbered. 
Gladiator shows were the great passion of 
Rome, and popular favor could hardly be 
gained except by ministering to it. Even when 
the barbarians were beginning to close in on 


$2 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

the Empire, hosts of brave men were still kept 
for this slavish mimic 'warfare, — sport to the 
beholders, but sad earnest to the actors. 

Christianity worked its way upward, and at 
last was professed by the emperor on his 
throne. Persecution came to an end, and no 
more martyrs fed the beasts in the Colosseum. 
The Christian emperors endeavored to prevent 
any more shows where cruelty and death 
formed the chief interest, and no tiuly reli- 
gious person could endure the spectacle ; but 
custom and love of excitement prevailed even 
against the emperor. Mere tricks of beasts, 
horse and chariot races, or bloodless contests, 
were tame and dull, according to the diseased 
taste of Rome ; it was thought weak and senti- 
mental to object to looking on at a death- 
scene ; the emperors were generally absent at 
Constantinople, and no one could get elected to 
&ny office unless he treated the citizens to such 
a show as they best liked, with little blood- 
shed and death to stir their feelings ; and thus it 
went on for full a hundred years after Rome 
had, in name, become a Christian city, and the 
same customs prevailed vdierever there was an 
amphitheatre and pleasure-loving people. 

Meantime the enemies of Rome were coming 
nearer and nearer, and Alaric, the great chief of 
the Goths, led his forces into Italy, and threat- 
ened the city itself. Honorius, the Emperor, 
was a cowardly, almost idiotical, boy ; but his 
brave general, Stilicho, assembled his forces, met 
the Goths at Pollentia (about twenty -five miles 
from where Turin now stands), and gave them 


THE EAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 9S 

a complete defeat oil the Easter-day of the year 
403. He pursued them into the mountains, 
and for that time saved Rome. In the joy of 
the victory the Roman Senate invited the 
conqueror and his ward Honorius to enter the 
city in triumph, at the opening of the new 
year, with the white steeds, purple robes and 
vermilion cheeks with which, of old, victorious- 
generals were welcomed at Rome. The 
churches were visited instead of the Temple of 
Jupiter, and there was no murder of the cap- 
tives ; but Roman blood-thirstiness was not yet 
allayed, and, after all the procession had been 
completed, the Colosseum shows commenced,, 
innocently at first, with races on foot, on 
horseback, and in chariots ; then followed a 
grand hunting of beasts turned loose in the 
arena ; and next a sword-dance. But after the 
sword-dance came the arraying of swordsmen, 
with no blunted weapons, but with sharp spears 
and swords, — a gladiator combat in full earn- 
est. The people, enchanted, applauded with 
shouts of ecstasy this gratification of their- 
savage tastes. Suddenly, however, there was 
an interruption. A rude, roughly-robed man, 
bareheaded and barefooted, had sprung into 
the arena, and, signing back the gladiators, 
began to call aloud upon the people to cease- 
from the shedding of innocent blood, and not 
to requite God’s mercy in turning away the 
sword of the enemy by encouraging murder. 
Shouts, howls, cries, broke in upon his words; 
this was no place for preachings, — the old cus- 
toms of Rome should be observed, — “ Back, 


$4 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

old man ! ” — “ On, gladiators ! ” The gladia- 
tors thrust aside the meddler, and rushed to the 
attack. He still stood between, holding them 
apart, striving in vain to be heard. “ Sedi- 
tion ! sedition ! ” — “ Down with him ! ” was the 
cry; and the man in authority, Alypius, the 
prefect, himself added his voice. The gladia- 
tors, enraged at interference with their voca- 
tion, cut him down. Stones, or whatever came 
to hand, rained down upon him from the 
furious people, and he perished in the midst of 
the arena ! He lay dead, and then came the 
feeling of what had been done. 

His dress showed that he was one of the 
hermits who vowed themselves to a holy life 
•of prayer and self-denial, and who were greatly 
reverenced, even by the most thoughtless. The 
few who had previously seen him, told that he 
had come from the wilds of Asia on pilgrimage, 
to visit the shrines and keep his Christmas at 
Home, — they knew he was a holy man, — no 
more, and it is not even certain whether his 
name was Alymachus or Telemachus. His 
spirit had been stirred by the sight of thou- 
sands flocking to see men slaughter one another, 
and in his simple-hearted zeal he had resolved 
to stop the cruelty or die. He had died, but 
not in vain. His work was done. The shock 
•of such a death before their eyes turned the 
hearts of the people ; they saw the wickedness 
and cruelty to which they had blindly sur- 
rendered themselves; and from the day when 
the hermit died in the Colosseum there was 
never another fight of gladiators. Not merely 


THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NANTERRE. 95 

at Rome, but in every province of the Empire, 
the custom was utterly abolished ; and one 
habitual crime at least was wiped from the 
earth by the self-devotion of one humble, 
obscure, almost nameless man. 

THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NANTERRE. 
a. d. 438. 

Four hundred years of th§ Roman dominion 
had entirely tamed the once wild and inde- 
pendent Gauls. Everywhere, except in the 
moorlands of Brittany, they had become as 
much like Romans themselves as they could 
accomplish ; they had Latin names, spoke the 
Latin tongue, all their personages of higher 
rank were enrolled as Roman citizens, their 
chief cities were colonies where the laws were 
administered by magistrates in the Roman 
fashion, and the houses, dress, and amusements 
were the same as those of Italy. The greater 
part of the towns had been converted to Chris- 
tianity, though some Paganism still lurked in 
the more remote villages and mountainous dis- 
tricts. 

It was upon these civilized Gauls that the 
terrible attacks came from the wild nations who 
poured out of the centre and east of Europe. 
The Franks came over the Rhine and its 
dependent rivers, and made furious attacks 


96 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

upon the peaceful plains, where the Gauls had 
long lived in security, and reports were every- 
where heard of villages harried by wild horse- 
men, with short double-headed battle-axes, and 
a horrible short pike, covered with iron and 
with several large hooks, like a gigantic arti- 
ficial minnow, and like it fastened to a long- 
rope, so that the prey which it had grappled 
might be pulled up to the owner. Walled cities 
usually stopped them, but every farm or villa 
v outside was stripped of its valuables, set on fire, 
the cattle driven off, and the more healthy 
inhabitants seized for slaves. 

It was during this state of things that a girl 
was born to a wealthy peasant at the village 
now called Nanterre, about two miles from 
Lutetia, which was already a . prosperous city, 
though not as yet so entirely the capital as it 
was destined to become under the name of Paris. 
She was christened by an old Gallic name, 
probably Gwenfrewi, or White Stream, in Latin 
Genovefa, but she is best known by the late 
French form of Genevieve. When she was 
about seven years old, two celebrated bishops 
passed through the village, Germ an us, of 
Auxerre, and Lupus, of Troyes, who had been 
invited to Britain to dispute the false doctrine 
of Pelagius. All the inhabitants flocked into 
the church to see them, pray with them, and 
receive their blessing ; and here the sweet 
childish devotion of Genevieve so struck Ger- 
manus, that he called her to him, talked to her, 
made her sit beside him at the feast, gave her 
ills especial blessing, and presented her with a 


THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NANTERRE. 97 

copper medal with a cross engraven upon it„ 
From that time the little maiden always deemed 
herself especially consecrated to the service of 
heaven, but she still remained at home, daily- 
keeping her father’s sheep, and spinning their 
wool as she s^t under the trees watching them,, 
but always with a heart full of prayer. 

After this St. Germanus proceeded to Britain,, 
and there encouraged his converts to meet the 
heathen Piets at Maes Garmon, in Flintshire,, 
where the exulting shout of the white-robed 
catechumens turned to flight the wild supersti- 
tious savages of the north, — and the Halle- 
lujah victory was gained without a drop of 
bloodshed. He never lost sight of Genevieve,, 
tiie little maid whom he had so early dis- 
tinguished for her piety. 

After she lost her parents she went to live 
with her god-mother, and continued the same 
simple habits, leading a life of sincere devotion 
and strict self-denial, constant prayer, and much 
charity to her poorer neighbors. 

In the year 451 the whole of Gaul was in the 
most dreadful state of terror at the advance of 
Attila, the savage chief of the Huns, who came 
from the banks of the Danube with a host of 
savages of hideous features, scarred and disfig- 
ured to render them more frightful. The old 
•nemies, the Goths and the Franks, seemed like 
friends compared with these formidable beings, 
whose cruelties were said to be intolerable, and 
of whom every exaggerated story was told that 
could add to the horrors of the miserable peo- 
ple who lay in their path. Tidings came that 


•98 BOOK OF GOLDEN LEEDS. 

this “Scourge of God,” as Attila called himself, 
had passed the Rhine, destroyed Tongres and 
Metz, and was in full march for Paris. The 
whole country was in the utmost terror. Every 
one seized their most valuable possessions, and 
would have fled ; but Genevieve placed herself 
on the only bridge across the Seine, and argued 
with them, assuring them, in a strain that was 
afterward thought of as prophetic, that, if they 
would pray, repent, and defend, instead of 
abandoning their homes, God would protect 
them. They were at first almost ready to stone 
her for thus withstanding their panic, but just 
then a priest arrived from Auxerre, with a 
present for Genevieve from St. Germanus, and 
they were thus reminded of the high estimation 
in which he held her ; they became ashamed 
of their violence, as she led them back to pray 
and to arm themselves. In a few days they 
heard that Attila had paused to besiege Orleans, 
and that Aetius, the Roman general, hurrying 
from Italy, had united his troops with those of 
the Goths and Franks, and given Attila so 
terrible a defeat at Chalons that the Huns were 
fairly driven out of Gaul. And here it must 
be mentioned that when the next year, 452, 
Attila with his murderous host came down into 
Italy, and after horrible devastation of all the 
northern provinces, came to the gates of Rome, 
no one dared to meet him but one venerable 
Bishop, Leo, the Pope, who, when his flock 
were in transports of despair, went forth only 
accompanied by one magistrate, to meet the 
invader, and endeavor to turn his wrath aside. 


THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NANTERRE. 99 

The savage Huns were struck with awe by the 
fearless majesty of the unarmed old man. They 
conducted him safely to Attila, who listened to 
him with respect, and promised not to lead his 
people into Rome, provided a tribute should be 
paid to him. He then retreated, and, to the 
joy of all Europe, died on his way back to his 
native dominions. 

But with the Huns the danger and suffering 
of Europe did not end. The happy state 
described in the Prophets as “ dwelling safely, 
with none to make them afraid,” was utterly 
unknown in Europe throughout the long break- 
up of the Roman Empire ; and in a few more 
years the Franks were overrunning the banks 
of the Seine, and actually venturing to lay 
siege to the Roman walls of Paris itself. The 
fortifications were strong enough, but hunger 
began to do the work of the besiegers, and the 
garrison, unwarlike and untrained, began to 
despair. But Genevieve’s courage and trust 
never failed ; and finding no warriors willing 
to run the risk of going beyond the walls to 
obtain food for the women and children who 
were perishing around them, this brave shep- 
herdess embarked alone in a little boat, and 
guiding it down the stream, landed beyond the 
Frankish camp, and repairing to the different 
Gallic cities, she implored them to send succor 
to their famished brethren. She obtained com- 
plete success. Probably the Franks had no 
means of obstructing the passage of the river, 
so that a convoy of boats could easily penetrate 
into the town, and at any rate they looked upon 


100 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Genevieve as something sacred and inspired 
whom they durst not touch ; probably as one 
of the battle-maids in whom their own myths 
taught them to believe. One account indeed 
says that, instead of going alone to obtain help, 
Genevieve placed herself at the head of a 
forage party, and that the mere sight of her 
inspired bearing caused them to be allowed to 
enter and return in safety ; but the boat 
version seems the more probable, since a single 
boat on the broad river would more easily elude 
the enemy than a troop of Gauls pass through 
their army. 

But a city where all the valor resided in one 
woman could not long hold out, and in another 
inroad, when Genevieve was absent, Paris was 
actually seized by the Franks. Their leader, 
Hilperik, was absolutely afraid of what the 
mysteriously brave maiden might do to him, 
and commanded the gates of the city to be 
carefully guarded lest she should enter ; but 
Genevieve learnt that some of the chief citizens 
were imprisoned, and that Hilperik intended 
their death, and nothing could withhold her 
from making an effort in their behalf. The 
Franks had made up their minds to settle, and 
not to destroy. They were not burning and 
slaying indiscriminately, but while despising 
the Romans, as they called the Gauls, for their 
cowardice, they were in awe of their superior 
civilization and knowledge of arts. The country 
people had free access to the city, and Gen- 
evieve, in her homely gown and veil, passed by 
Hdpenk’s guards without being suspected of 


THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NANTERRE. 101 

being more than any ordinary Gaulish village 
maid ; and thus she fearlessly made her way, 
even to the old Koman halls, where the long- 
haired Hilperik was holding his wild carousal. 
Would that we knew more of that interview, — 
one of the most striking that ever took place ! 
We can only picture to ourselves the Roman 
tesselated pavement bestrewn with wine, bones, 
and fragments of the barbarous revelry. There 
were untamed Franks, their sun-burnt hair tied 
up in a knot at the top of their heads, and fall- 
ing down like a horse’s tail, their faces close 
shaven, except two huge moust ches, and dressed 
in tight leather garments, with swords at their 
wide belts. Some slept, some feasted, some 
greased their long locks, some shouted out their 
favorite war-songs around the table, which was 
covered with the spoils of churches, and at their 
head sat the wild, long-haired chieftain, who 
was a few years later driven away by his own 
followers for his excesses, — the whole scene was 
all that was abhorrent to a pure, devout, and 
faithful nature, most full of terror to a woman. 
Yet there, in her strength, stood the peasant 
maiden, her heart full of trust and pity, her 
looks full of the power that is given by fearless- 
ness of them that can kill the body. What she 
said we do not know, — we only know that the 
barbarous Hilperik was overawed ; he trembled 
before the expostulations of the brave woman, 
and granted all she asked, — the safety of his 

S risoners, and mercy to the terrified inhabitants. 

To wonder that the people of Paris have ever 
since looked back to Genevieve as their proteo- 


102 BOOK OF OOLDEN DEEDS. 

tress, and that in after ages she has grown to bo 
the patron saint of the city. 

She lived to see the son of Hilperik, Chlod- 
weh, or, as he was more commonly called, 
Clovis, marry a Christian wife, Clotilda, and 
after a time become a Christian. She saw the 
foundation of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, 
and of the two famous churches of St. Denys 
and of St. Martin of Tours, and gave her full 
share to the first efforts for bringing the rude 
and bloodthirsty conquerors to some knowledge 
of Christian faith, mercy, and purity. After a 
life of constant prayer and charity she died, 
three months after King Clovis, in the year 512, 
the 89th of her age* 


o 

LEO THE SLAVE. 
a. d. 533. 

The Franks had fully gained possession of all 
the north of Gaul, except Brittany. Chlodweh 
had made them Christians in name, but they 
still remained horribly savage, — and the life of 
the Gauls under them was wretched. The 


*Perhaps the exploits of the Maid of Orleans were 
the most like those of Genevieve ; hut they are not 
here added to our collection of “Golden Deeds,’ ’ 
because the Maid’s belief that she was directly 
inspired removes them from the ordinary class. Alas! 
the English did not treat her as Hilperik treated Gen- 
evieve. 


LEO THE SLAVE. 


103 

Burgundians and Visigoths who had peopled 
the southern and eastern provinces were far 
from being equally violent. They had entered 
on their settlements on friendly terms, and even 
showed considerable respect for the Roman- 
Gallic senators, magistrates, and higher clergy, 
who all remained unmolested in their dignities* 
and riches. Thus it was that Gregory, Bishop 
of Langres, was a man of high rank and con- 
sideration in the Burgundian kingdom, whence- 
the Christian Queen Clotilda had come ; and 
even after the Burgundians had been subdued 
by the four sons of Chlodweh, he continued a 
rich and prosperous man. 

After one of the many quarrels and reconcili- 
ations between these fierce brethren, there was- 
an exchange of hostages for the observance of 
the terms of the treaty. These were not taken 
from among the Franks, who were too proud to 
submit to captivity, but from among the Gaul- 
ish nobles, a much more convenient arrange- 
ment to the Frankish kings, who cared for tho 
life of a “ Roman ” infinitely less than even for 
the life of a Frank. Thus many young men 
of senatorial families were exchanged between*, 
the domains of Theodrik to the south, and of 
Hildebert to the northward, and quartered 1 
among Frankish chiefs, with whom at first they 
had nothing more to endure than the discomfort 
of living as guests with such rude and coarse 
barbarians. But ere long fresh quarrels broke 
out between Theodrik and Hildebert, and the 
unfortunate hostages were at once turned into* 
slaves. Some of them ran away if they were* 


104 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


near the frontier, but Bishop Gregory was in 
the utmost anxiety about his young nephew. 
Attalus, who had been last heard of as being 
placed under the charge of a Frank who lived 
between Trebes and Metz. The Bishop sent 
emissaries to make inquiries, and they brought 
word that the unfortunate youth had indeed 
been reduced to slavery, and was made to keep 
his master’s herds of horses. Upon this the 
uncle again sent off his messengers with presents 
for the ransom of Attalus, but the Frank 
rejected them, saying, “ One of such high race 
can only be redeemed for ten pounds’ worth of 
gold.” 

This was beyond the bishop’s means, and 
while he was considering how to raise the sum, 
the slaves were all lamenting for their young 
lord, to whom they were much attached, till one 
of them, named Leo* the cook to the household, 
came to the bishop, saying to him, “ If thou 
wilt give me leave to go, I will deliver him from 
•captivity.” The bishop replied that he gave 
tree permission, and the slave set off for Treves, 
und there watched anxiously for an opportunity 
of gaining access to Attalus; but though the 
poor young man — no longer daintily dressed, 
bathed, and perfumed, but ragged and squalid 
— might be seen following his herds of horses, 
he was too well watched for any communication 
to be held with him. Then Leo went to a per- 
son, probably of Gallic birth, and said, “ Come 
with me to this barbarian’s house, and there sell 
me for a slave. Thou shalt have the money, I 
only ask thee to help me thus far.” 


LEO THE SLAVE. 


105 


Both repaired to the Frank’s abode, the chief 
among a confused collection of clay and timber 
huts intended for shelter during eating and 
sleeping. The Frank looked at the slave, and 
asked him what he could do. 

“ I can dress whatever is eaten at lordly 
tables,” replied Leo. “ I am afraid of no rival ; 
I only tell thee the truth when I say that if thou 
wouldst give a feast to the king I could send it 
up in the neatest manner.” 

“ Ha !” said the barbarian, “ the Sun’s day is 
coming — I shall invite my kinsmen and friends. 
Cook me such a dinner as may amaze them, and 
make them say, ‘ We saw nothing better in the 
king’s house.’ ” 

“ Let me have plenty of poultry, and I will 
do according to my master’s bidding,” returned 
Leo. 

Accordingly, he was purchased for twelve gold 
pieces, and on the Sunday (as Bishop Gregory 
of Tours, who tells the story, explains that the 
barbarians called the Lord’s day) he produced 
a banquet after the most approved Roman 
fashion, much to the surprise and delight of the 
Franks, who had never tasted such delicacies be- 
fore, and complimented their host upon them all 
the evening. Leo gradually became a great fav- 
orite, and was placed in authority over the other 
slaves, to whom he gave out their daily portions 
of broth and meat ; but from the first he had 
not shown any recognition of Attalus, and had 
signed to him that they must be strangers to 
one another. A whole year had passed away 
in this manner, when one day Leo wandered, as 


106 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


if for pastime, into the plain where Attalus 
was watching the horses, and sitting down on 
the ground at some paces off, and with his back 
toward his young master, so that they might 
not be seen talking together, he said, “ This is 
the time for thoughts of home! When thou hast 
led the horses to the stable to-night, sleep not. 
Be ready at the first call !” 

That day the Frank lord was entertaining a 
large number of guests, among them his daugh- 
ter’s husband, a jovial young man, given to 
jesting. On going to rest he fancied he should 
be thirsty at night, and called Leo to set a 
pitcher of hydromel by his bedside. As the 
slave was setting it down, the Frank loc ^eu 
slyly from under his eyelids, and said in joke, 
“ Tell me, my father-in-law’s trusty man, wilt 
not thou some night take one of those horses, 
and run awav to thine own home ? ” 

“ Please God, it is what I mean to do this 
very night,” answered the Gaul, so undauntedly 
that the Frank took it as a jest, and answered, 
“ I shall look out then that thou dost not carry 
off anything of mine,” and then Leo left him, 
both laughing. 

All were soon asleep, and the cook crept out 
to the stable, where Attains usually slept among 
the horses. He was broad awake now, and 
ready to saddle the two swiftest, but he had no 
weapon except a small lance, so Leo boldly 
went back to his master’s sleeping hut and took 
down his sword and shield, but not without 
awakening him enough to ask who was moving. 
“ It is I, — Leo,” was the answer. “ I have 


LEO THE SLAVE. 107 

been to call Attalus to take out the horse® 
early. He sleeps as hard as a drunkard.” 
The Frank went to sleep again, quite satisfied,, 
and Leo, carrying out the weapons, soon made 
Attains feel like a free man and a noble once 
more. They passed unseen out of the enclosure, 
mounted their horses, and rode along the great 
Roman road from Treves as far as the Meuse ; 
but they found the bridge guarded, and were 
obliged to wait till night, when they cast their 
horses loose and swam the river, supporting 
themselves on boards that they found on the 
bank. They had as yet had no food since the 
supper at their master’s and were thankful to find 
a plum tree in the wood, with fruit, to refresh 
them in some degree, before they lay down for 
the night. The next morning they went on in 
the direction of Rheims, carefully listening 
whether there were any sounds behind, until, on 
the broad, hard-paved causeway, they actually 
heard the tramping of horses. Happily a bush 
was near, behind which they crept, with their 
naked swords before them, and here the riders 
actually halted for a few moments to arrange 
their harness. Men and horses were both those 
they feared, and they trembled at hearing one 
say : “ Woe is me that those rogues have made 
off, and have not been caught ! On my sal- 
vation, if I catch them, I will have one hung 
and the other chopped into little bits!” It 
was no small comfort to hear the trot of the 
horses resumed, and soon dying away in the 
distance. That same night the two faint, hun- 
gry, weary travelers, footsore and exhausted. 


108 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

■came stumbling into Rheims, looking about for 
some person still awake to tell them the way to 
the house of the Priest Paul, a friend of Attalus’ 
uncle. They found it just as the church bell 
was ringing for matins, a sound that must have 
seemed very like home to these members of an 
Episcopal household. They knocked, and in 
the morning twilight met the priest going to his 
•earliest Sunday morning service. 

Leo told his young master’s name, and how 
they had escaped, and the priest’s first exclama- 
tion was a strange one : “ My dream is true. 
This very night I saw two doves, one white and 
one black, who came and perched on my 
hand.” 

The good man was overjoyed, but he scrupled 
to give them any food, as it was contrary to the 
Church’s rules for the fast to be broken before 
mass ; but the travelers were half dead with 
hunger, and could only say, “ The good Lord 
pardon us, for, saving the respect due to His 
-day, we must eat something, since this is the 
fourth day since we have touched bread or 
meat.” The priest upon this gave them some 
bread and wine, and after hiding them care- 
fully, went to church, hoping to avert suspicion ; 
but their master was already at Rheims, making 
strict search for them, and learning that Paul 
the priest was a friend of the Bishop of Langres, 
he went to church, and there questioned him 
closely. But the priest succeeded in guarding 
his secret, and though he incurred much danger, 
as the Salic law was very severe against con- 
cealers of runaway slaves, he kept Attalus and 


LEO THE SLAVE. 


109 


Leo for two clays, till the search was blown 
over, and their strength was restored, so that 
they could proceed to Langres. There they- 
were welcomed like men risen from the dead p 
the bishop wept on the neck of Attalus, and 
was ready to receive Leo as a slave no more,, 
but a friend and deliverer. 

A few days after Leo was solemnly led to the 
church. Every door was set open as a sign 
that he might henceforth go whithersoever he 
would. Bishop Gregorius took him by the 
hand, and, standing before the archdeacon, 
declared that for the sake of the good services- 
rendered by his slave, Leo, he set him free, and 
created him a Roman citizen. 

Then the archdeacon read a writing of manu- 
mission : “ Whatever is done according to the 
Roman law is irrevocable. According to the 
constitution of the Emperor Constantine, of 
happy memory, and the edict that declares that 
whosoever is manumitted in church, in the 
presence of the bishops, priests, and deacons, 
shall become a Roman citizen under protection 
of the church ; from this day Leo becomes a 
member of the city, free to go and come where 
he will as if he had been born of free parents. 
From 'this day forward, he is exempt from all 
subjection of servitude, of all duty of a freed- 
man, all bond of clientship. He is and shall be 
free, with full and entire freedom, and shall 
never cease to belong to the body of Roman, 
citizens.” 

At the same time Leo was endowed with, 
lands, which raised him to the rank of what the 


110 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Pranks called a Roman proprietor, the highest 
reward in the bishop’s power for the faithful 
•devotion that had incurred such dangers in 
order to rescue the young Attalus from his 
miserable bondage. 

GUZMAN ’EL BUENO. 

1293. 

In the early times of Spanish history, before 
the Moors had been expelled from the penin- 
sula, or the blight of Western gold had ener- 
vated the nation, the old honor and loyalty of 
the Gothic race were high and pure, fostered 
by constant combats with a generous enemy. 
The Spanish Arabs were indeed the flower of 
the Mahometan races, endowed with the vigor 
and honor of the desert tribes, yet capable of 
culture and civilization, excelling all other 
nations of their time in science and art, and 
almost the equals of their Christian foes in the 
attributes of chivalry. Wars with them were 
a constant crusade, consecrated in the minds of 
the Spaniards as being in the cause of religion, 
and yet in some degree freed from savagery 
and cruelty by the respect exacted by the 
honorable character of the enemy, and by the 
fact that the civilization and learning of the 
Christian kingdoms were far more derived from 
the Moors than from the kindred nations of 
Europe. 

By the close of the thirteenth century, the 
'Christian kingdoms of Castile and Aragon were 


GUZMAN ’EL BUENO. 


Ill 


descending from their mountain fastnesses, 
and spreading over the lovely plains of the 
south, even to the Mediterranean coast, as one 
beautiful Moorish city after another yielded to 
the persevering advances of the children of the 
Goths ; and in 12^1 the nephew of our own 
beloved Eleanor of Castile, Sancho V., called 
El Bravo , ventured to invest the city of Tarifa. 

This was the western buttress of the gate of 
the Mediterranean, the base of the northern 
Pillar of Hercules, and esteemed one of the 
gates of Spain. By it five hundred years 
previously had the Moorish enemy first entered 
Spain at the summons of Count Julian, under 
their leader Tarifabu-Zearah, whose name was 
bestowed upon it in remembrance of his landing 
there. The form of the ground is said to be 
like a broken punch-bowl, with the broken part 
toward the sea. The Moors had fortified the 
city with a surrounding wall and twenty-six 
towers, and had built a castle with a lighthouse 
on a small adjacent island, called Isla Verde, 
which they had connected with the city by a 
causeway. Their fortifications, always admir- 
able, have existed ever since, and in 1811, 
another five hundred years after, were success- 
fully defended against the French by a small 
force of British troop3 under the command of 
Colonel Hugh Gough, better known in his old 
age as the victor of Aliwal. The walls were 
then unable to support the weight of artillery, 
for which of course they had never been built, 
but were perfectly effective against escalade. 

For six months King Sancho besieged Tarifa 


112 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

by land and sea, his fleet, hired from the 
Genoese, lying in the waters w'here the battle 
of Trafalgar was to be fought. The city at 
length yielded under stress of famine, but the 
king feared that he had no resources to enable 
him to keep it, and intended to dismantle and 
forsake it, when the Grand Master of the mili- 
tary order of Calatrava offered to undertake 
the defence with his knights for one year, 
hoping that some other noble would come for- 
ward at the end of that time and take the 
charge upon himself. 

He was not mistaken. The noble "who made 
himself responsible for this post of danger w^as 
a Leonese knight of high distinction, by name 
Alonso Perez de Guzman, air. iy called El 
Bueno , or “ The Good,” from th gh qualities 
he had manifested in the service of the late 
king, Don Alonso VI., by whom he had always 
stood when the present king, Don Sancho, was 
in rebellion. The offer was readily accepted, 
and the whole Guzman family removed to 
Tarifa, with the exception of the eldest son, 
who was in the train of the Infant Don Juan, 
the second son of the late king, w 7 ho had always 
taken part with his father against his brother, 
and on Sancho’s accession, continued his 
enmity, and fled to Portugal. 

The king of Portugal, however, being re- 
quested by Sancho not to permit him to remain 
there, he proceeded to offer his services to the 
king of Morocco, Yusuf-ben-Yacoub, for whom 
he undertook to recover Tarifa, if 5000 horse 
were granted to him for the purpose. Th* 


GUZMAN ’EL BUENO. 11S 

force would have been most disproportionate 
for the attack of such a city as Tarifa, but 
Don Juan reckoned on means that he had 
already found efficacious ; when he had ob- 
tained the surrender of Zamora to his father 
by threatening to put to death a child of the 
lady in command of the fortress. 

Therefore, after summoning Tarifa at the 
head of his 5000 Moors, he led forth before the 
gates the boy who had been confided to his 
care, and declared that, unless the city were 
yielded instantly, Guzman should behold the 
death of his own son at his hand ! Before, he 
had had to deal with a weak woman on a ques- 
tion of divided allegiance. It was otherwise 
here. The point was whether the city should 
be made over to the enemies of the faith and 
country, whether the plighted word of a loyal 
knight should be broken. The boy was held 
in the grasp of the cruel prince, stretching out 
his hands and weeping as he saw his father 
upon the walls. Don Alonso’s eyes, we am 
told, filled with tears as he cast one long, last 
look at his firstborn, whom he might not save^ 
except at the expense of his truth and honor. 

The struggle was bitter, but he broke forth 
at last in these words : “ I did not beget a son 
to be made use of against my country, but that 
he should serve her against her foes. Should 
Don Juaa put him to death, he will but confer 
honor on me, true life on my son, and on him- 
self eternal shame in this world and everlasting 
wrath after death. So far am I from yielding 
this place or betraying my trust, that in case 


114 book of golden deeds. 

he should want a weapon for his cruel purpose, 
there goes my knife ! ” 

He cast the knife in his belt over the walls, 
and returned to the castle, where, commanding 
his countenance, he sat down to table with his 
wife. Loud shouts of horror and dismay 
almost instantly called him forth again. He 
was told that Don Juan had been seen to cut 
the boy’s throat in a transport of blind rage. 
“ I thought the enemy had broken in,” he 
calmly said, and went back again. 

The Moors themselves were horror-struck at 
the atrocity of their ally, and as the siege was 
hopeless they gave it up ; and Don Juan, afraid 
and ashamed to return to Morocco, wandered 
to the court of Granada. 

King Sancho was lying sick at Alcala de 
Henares when the tidings of the price of Guz- 
man’s fidelity reached him. Touched to the 
depths of his heart, he wrote a letter to his 
faithful subject, comparing his sacrifice to that 
of Abraham, confirming to him the surname of 
Good, lamenting his own inability to come and 
offer his thanks and regrets, but entreating 
Guzman’s presence at Alcala. 

All the way thither, the people thronged to 
see the man true to his word at such a fearful 
cost. The court was sent out to meet him, and 
the king, after embracing him, exclaimed, 
“ Here learn, ye knights, what are exploits of 
virtue. Behold your model.” 

Lands and honors were heaped upon Alonso 
de Guzman, and they were not a mockery of 
his loss, for he had other sons to inherit them. 


FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. 115 

He was the staunch friend of Sancho’s widow 
and son in a long and perilous minority, and 
<died full of years and honors. The lands 
granted to him were those of Medina Sidonia, 
which lie between the rivers Guadiana and 
Guadalquivir, and they have ever since been 
held by his descendants, who still bear the 
honored name of Guzman, witnessing that the 
man who gave the life of his firstborn rather 
than break his faith to the king has left a pos- 
terity as noble and enduring as any family in 
Europe. 

o 

FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. 

1308. 

One of the ladies most admired by the 
ancient Romans was Arria, the wife of Csecina 
Psetus, a Roman who was condemned by the 
Emperor Claudius to become his own execu- 
tioner. Seeing him waver, his wife, who was 
resolved to be with him, in death as in life, 
took the dagger from his hand and plunged 
it into her own breast, and with her last 
strength held it out to him, gasping out, “ It is 
not painful, my Psetus.” 

Such was heathen faithfulness even to death ; 
and where the teaching of Christianity had 
not forbidden the taking away of life by one’s 
own hand, perhaps wifely love could not go 
higher. Yet Christian women have endured a 
yet more fearful ordeal to their tender affection. 


116 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

watching, supporting, and finding unfailing 
fortitude to uphold the sufferer in agonies that 
must have rent their hearts. 

Natalia was the fair young wife of Adrian, 
an officer at Nicomedia, in the guards of the 
Emperor Galerius Maximianus, and only about 
twenty-eight years old. Natalia was a Chris- 
tian, but her husband remained a Pagan, until, 
when he was charged with the execution of 
some martyrs, their constancy, coupled with the 
testimony of his own wife’s virtues, triumphed 
over his unbelief, and he confessed himself 
likewise a Christian. He .was thrown into 
prison, and sentenced to death, but he pre- 
vailed on his gaoler to permit him to leave the 
dungeon for a time, that he might see his wife. 
The report came to Natalia that he was no 
longer in prison, and she threw herself on the 
ground, lamenting aloud: “Now will men point 
at me, and say, ‘ Behold the wife of the coward 
and apostate, who, for fear of death, hath 
denied his Cod.’ ” 

“ O, thou noble and strong-hearted woman,” 
said Adrian’s voice at the door, “ I bless God 
that I am not unworthy of thee. Open the 
door, that I may bid thee farewell.” 

But this was not the last farewell, though he 
duly went back to the prison ; for when, the 
next day, he had b^en cruelly scourged and 
tortured before the tribunal, Natalia, with her 
hair cut short, and wearing the disguise of a 
youth, was there to tend and comfort him. 
She took him in her arms, saying, “ O, light of 
mine eyes, and husband of mine heart, blessed 


FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. 117 

art thou, who art chosen to suffer for Christ’s 
sake.” 

On the following day the tyrant ordered that 
Adrian’s limbs should be one by one struck off 
on a blacksmith’s anvil, and lastly his head. 
And still it was his wife who held him and 
sustained him through all, and, ere the last 
stroke of the executioner, had received his last 
breath. She took up one of the severed hands 
and kissed it, and placed it in her bosom, and 
escaping to Byzantium, there spent her life in 
widowhood. 

Nor among these devoted wives should we 
pass by Gertrude, the wife of Rudolf, Baron 
von der Wart, a Swabian nobleman, who was 
so ill-advised as to join in a conspiracy of 
Johann of Hapsburg, in 1308, against the 
Emperor Albrecht I, the son of the great and 
good Rudolf of Hapsburg. 

This Johann was the son of the emperor’s 
brother Rudolf, a brave knight who had died 
young, and Johann had been brought up by a 
baron called Walther von Eschenbach, until, 
at nineteen years old, he went to his uncle to 
demand his father’s inheritance. Albrecht was 
a rude and uncouth man, and refused disdain- 
fully the demand, whereupon the nobleman of 
the disputed territory stirred up the young 
prince to form a plot against him, all having 
evidently different views of the lengths to 
which they would proceed. This was just at 
the time that the Swiss, angry at the overween- 
ing and oppressive behavior of Albrecht’s 
governors, were first taking up arms to main- 


118 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

tain that they owed no duty to him as Duke of 
Austria, but merely as Emperor of Germany. 
He set out on his way to chastise them as 
rebels, taking with him a considerable train, of 
whom his nephew Johann w T as one. At Baden, 
Johann, as a last experiment, again applied for 
his inheritance, but by way of answer, Albrecht 
held out a wreath of flowers, telling him they 
better became his years than did the cares of 
government. He burst into tears, threw the 
wreath upon the ground, and fed his mind 
upon the savage purpose of letting his uncle 
find out what he was fit for. 

By and by the party came to the banks of 
the Reuss, where there was no bridge, and only 
one single boat to carry the whole across. The 
first to cross were the emperor, with one 
attendant, besides his nephew and four of the 
secret partisans of Johann. Albrecht’s son 
Leopold was left to follow with the rest of the 
suite, and the emperor rode on toward the 
hills of his home, toward the Castle of Haps- 
burg, where his father’s noble qualities had 
earned the reputation which was the cause of 
all the greatness of the line. Suddenly his 
nephew rode up to him, and while one of the 
conspirators seized the bridle of his horse, 
exclaimed, “ Will you now restore my inheri- 
tance ! ” and wounded him in the neck. The 
attendant fled ; Der Wart, who had never 
thought murder was to be a part of the scheme, 
stood aghast, but the other two fell on the 
unhappy Albrecht, and each gave him a mortal 
wound, and then all five fled in different 


FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. lli* 

directions. The whole horrible affair took 
place full in view of Leopold and the army on 
the other side of the river, and when it became* 
possible for any of them to cross, they found 
that the emperor had just expired, with hi& 
head in the lap of a poor woman. 

The murderers escaped into the Swiss moun- 
tains, expecting shelter there ; but the stout, 
honest men of the cantons were resolved not to 
have any connection with assassins, and refused 
to protect them. Johann himself, after long 
and miserable wanderings in disguise, bitterly 
repented, owned his crime to the Pope, and was 
received into a convent; Eschenbach escaped, 
and lived fifteen years as a cowherd. The 
others all fell into the hands of the sons and 
daughters of Albrecht, and woeful was the 
revenge that was taken upon them, and upon 
their innocent families and retainers. 

That Leopold, who had seen his father slain 
before his eyes, should have been deeply in- 
censed, was not wonderful, and his elder brother 
Frederick, as Duke of Austria, was charged 
with the execution of justice ; but both brothers 
were horribly savage and violent in their pro- 
ceedings, and their sister Agnes surpassed them 
in her atrocious thirst for vengeance. She was 
the wife of the king of Hungary, — very clever 
and discerning, and also supposed to be very 
religious, but all better thoughts were swept 
away by her furious passion. She had nearly 
strangled Eschenbach’s infant son with her own 
hands, when he was rescued from her by her 
&wn soldiers, and when she was watching the. 


120 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

beheading of sixty-three vassals of another of 
the murderers, she repeatedly exclaimed, “Now 
I bathe in May dew.” Once, indeed, she met 
with a stern rebuke. A hermit, for whom she 
had offered to build a convent, answered her, 
““Woman, God is not served by shedding inno- 
cent blood and by building convents out of the 
plunder of families, but by compassion and for- 
giveness of injuries.” 

Rudolf von der Wart received the horrible 
-sentence of being broken on the wheel. On his 
trial the emperor’s attendant declared that 
Der Wart had attacked Albrecht with his 
-dagger, and the cry, “How long will ye suffer 
this carrion to sit on horseback ? ” but he per- 
sisted to the last that he had been taken by 
surprise by the murder. However, there was 
no mercy for him ; and, by the express com- 
mand of Queen Agnes, after he had been 
bound upon one \yheel, and his limbs broken 
by heavy blows from the executioner, he was 
fastened to another wheel, which was set upon 
a pole, where he was to linger out the remain- 
ing hours of his life. His young wife, Ger- 
trude, who had clung to him through all his 
trial, was torn away and carried off* to the 
Castle of Kyburg ; but she made her escape at 
dusk, and found her way, as night came on, to 
the spot where her husband hung still living 
upon the wheel. That night of agony was 
described in a letter ascribed to Gertrude her- 
self. The guard left to watch fled at her 
approach, and she prayed beneath the scaffold ; 
and then, heaping some heavy logs of wood 


FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. 


121 


together, was able to climb up near enough to 
embrace him and stroke back the hair from his 
face, whilst he entreated her to leave him, lest 
she should be found there, and fall under the 
cruel revenge of the queen, telling her that 
thus it would be possible to increase his suffer- 
ing. 

“ I will die with you,” she said r “ ’tis for 
that I came, and no power shall force me from 
you ; ” and she prayed for the one mercy she 
hoped for, speedy death for her husband. 

In Mrs. Hemans’ beautiful words : — 

“ And bid me not depart,” she cried, 

“ My Rudolf, say not so ; 

This is no time to quit thy side, 

Peace, peace, I cannot go ! 

Hath the world aught for me to fear 
When death is on thy brow ? 

The world ! what means it ? Mine is here ? 

I will not leave thee now. 

“ I have been with thee in thine hour 
Of glory and of bliss ; 

Doubt not its memory’s living power 
To strengthen me through this. 

And thou, mine honored love and true, 

Bear on, bear nobly on ; 

We have the blessed heaven in view 
Whose rest shall soon be won.” 

When day began to break, the guard re- 
turned, and Gertrude took down her stage of 
wood and continued kneeling at the foot of the 


7^2 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

pole. Crowds of people came to look — among 
them the wife of one of the officials, whom 
Gertrude implored to intercede that her hus- 
band’s sufferings might be ended ; but though 
this might not be, some pitied her, and tried to 
give her wine and confections, which she could 
not touch. The priest came and exhorted 
Rudolf to confess the crime, but with a great 
effort he repeated his former statement of 
innocence. 

A band of horsemen rode by. Among them 
was the young Prince Leopold and his sister 
Agnes herself, clad as a knight. They were 
very angry at the compassion shown by the 
crowd, and after frightfully harsh language, 
commanded that Gertrude should be dragged 
away ; but one of the nobles interceded for her, 
and when she had been carried away to a little 
distance her entreaties were heard, and she was 
allowed to break away and come back to her 
husband. The priest blessed Gertrude, gave 
her his hand, and said, “Be faithful unto 
death, and God will give you the crown of 
life,” and she was no further molested. 

Night came on, and with it a stormy wind, 
whose howling mingled with the voice of her 
prayers, and whistled in the hair of the sufferer. 
One of the guard brought her a cloak. She 
climbed on the wheel, and spread the covering 
over her husband’s limbs ; then fetched some 
water in her shoe and moistened his lips with 
it, sustaining him above all with her prayers, 
and exhortations to look at the joys beyond. 
He had ceased to try to send her away, and 


THE KEYS OP CALAIS. 


12S 


thanked her for the comfort she gave him. 
And still she watched when morning came 
again and noon passed over her, and it was 
verging to evening, when, for the last time he 
moved his head ; and she raised herself so as to 
be close to him. With a smile, he murmured, 
“ Gertrude, this is faithfulness till death,” and 
died. She knelt down to thank G.od for having 
enabled her to remain for that last breath : — 

“While even as o’er a martyr’s grave 
She knelt on that sad spot, 

And, weeping, blessed the God who gave 
Strength to forsake it not ! ” 

She found shelter in a convent at Basle,, 
where she spent the rest of her life in a quiet 
round of prayer and good works ; till the time 
came when her widowed heart should find its 
true rest forever. 

o 

THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 

1347. 

Nowhere does the continent of Europe ap- 
proach Great Britain so closely as at thej3trait& 
of Dover, and when the English kings were 
full of the vain hope of obtaining the crown of 
France, or at least of regaining the great posses- 
sions that their forefathers had owned as French 
nobles, there was no spot so coveted by them ae 


124 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

the fortress of Calais, the possession of which 
gave an entrance into France. 

Thus it was that when in 1346, Edward III. 
had beaten Philippe YI. at the battle of 
Oecy, the first use he made of his victory was 
to march upon Calais, and lay siege to it. The 
walls were exceedingly strong and solid, 
mighty defences of masonry, of huge thickness, 
and like rocks for solidity, guarded it, and the 
king knew that it would be useless to attempt a 
direct assault. Indeed, during all the middle 
ages, the modes of protecting fortifications were 
far more efficient than the modes of attacking 
them. The w T alls could be made enormously 
massive, the towers raised to a great height, 
and the defenders were so completely sheltered 
by battlements that they could not easily be 
injured, and could take aim from the top of 
their turrets, or from their loophole windows. 
The gates had absolute little castles of their 
own, a moat flowed around the walls full of 
water, and only capable of being crossed by a 
draw-bridge, behind which the portcullis, a 
grating armed beneath with spikes, was always 
ready to drop from the archway of the gate 
and close up the entrance. The only chance 
of taking a fortress by direct attack was to fill 
up the moat with earth and faggots, and then 
raise ladders against the walls ; or else to drive 
■engines against the defences, battering-rams 
which struck them with heavy beams, mango- 
nels which launched stones, sows whose arched 
wooden backs protected troops of workmen 
who tried to undermine the wall, and moving 


THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 


125 


towers consisting of a succession of stages or 
shelves, filled with soldiers, and with a bridge 
with iron hooks, capable of being launched 
from the highest story to the top of the battle- 
ments. The besieged could generally discon- 
cert the battering-ram by hanging beds or 
mattresses over the walls to receive the brunt 
of the blow, the sows could be crushed with 
heavy stones, the towers burnt by well-directed 
flaming missiles, the ladders overthrown, and in 
general the besiegers suffered a great deal more 
damage than they could inflict. Cannon had 
indeed been brought into use at the battle of 
Crecy, but they only consisted of iron bars fas- 
tened together with hoops, and were as yet of 
little use, and thus there seemed to be little 
danger to a well-guarded city from any enemy- 
outside the walls. 

King Edward arrived before the place with 
all his victorious army early in August, his; 
good knights and squires arrayed in glittering 
steel armor, covered with surcoats richly em- 
broidered with their heraldic bearings; his; 
stout men-at-arms, each of whom was attended 
by three bold followers ; and his archers, with 
their cross-bows to shoot bolts, and long-bows 
to shoot arrows of a yard long, so that it used 
to be said that each went into battle with three 
men’s lives under his girdle, namely the three 
arrows he kept there ready to his hand. With 
the king was his son, Edward, Prince of Wales* 
who had just won the golden spurs of knight- 
hood so gallantly at Crecy, when only in his 
seventeenth year, and likewise the famous 


126 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Hainault knight, Sir Walter Mauny, and all 
that was noblest and bravest in England. 

This whole glittering array, at their head the 
king’s great royal standard bearing the golden 
lilies of France quartered with the lions 
of England, and each troop guided by the 
square banner, swallow-tail pennon or pointed 
pennoncel of their leader, came marching to 
the gates of Calais, above which floated the 
blue standard of France with its golden flow- 
ers, and with it the banner of the governor, Sir 
Jean de Vienne. A herald, in a rich, long 
robe, embroidered with the arms of England, 
rode up to the gate, a trumpet sounding before 
him, and called upon Sir Jean de Vienne to 
give up the place to Edward, King of England, 
and of France, as he claimed to be. Sir Jean 
made answer that he held the town for Philippe, 
King of France, and that he would defend it 
to the last ; the herald rode back again and the 
English began the siege of the city. 

At first they only encamped, and the people 
of Calais must have seen the whole plain cov- 
ered with the white canvas tents, marshaled 
round the ensigns of the leaders, and here and 
there a more gorgeous one displaying the colors 
of the owner. Still there was no attack upon 
the walls. The warriors were to be seen walk- 
ing about in the leathern suits they wore under 
their armor ; or if a party was to be seen with 
their coats of mail on, helmet on head, and 
lance in hand, it was not against Calais that 
they came ; they rode out into the country and 
by and by might be seen driving back before 


THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 127 

them herds of cattle and flocks of sheep or 
pigs that they had seized and taken away from 
the poor peasants ; and at night the sky would 
show red lights where farms and homesteads 
had been set on fire. After a time, in front of 
the tents, the English were to be seen hard at 
work with beams and boards setting up huts for 
themselves, and thatching them over with straw 
or broom. These wooden houses were all ranged 
in regular streets, and there was a market-place 
in the midst, whither every Saturday came 
farmers and butchers to sell corn and meat, and 
hay for the horses ; and the English merchants 
and Flemish weavers would come by sea and 
hy land to bring cloth, bread, weapons and 
everything that could be needed to be sold in 
this warlike market. 

The Governor, Sir Jean de Vienne, began to 
perceive that the king did not mean to waste 
his men by making vain attacks on the strong 
walls of Calais, but to shut up the entrance by 
land, and watch the coast by sea so as to pre- 
vent any provisions from being taken in, and 
so to starve him into surrendering. Sir Jean 
de Vienne, however, hoped that before he should 
be entirely reduced by famine, the King of 
France would be able to get together another 
army and come to his relief, and at any rate he 
was determined to do his duty, and hold out 
for his master to the last. But as food was al- 
ready beginning to grow scarce, he was obliged 
to turn out such persons as could not fight and 
had no stores of their own, and so one Wednes- 
day morning he caused all the poor to be 


128 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

brought together, men, women and children, 
and sent them all out of the town, to the num- 
ber of 1700. It was probably the truest mercy, 
for he had no food to give them ; and they 
could only have starved miserably within the 
town, or have hindered him from saving it for 
his sovereign ; but to them it was dreadful to 
be driven out of house and home, straight down 
upon the enemy, and they went along weeping 
and wailing, till the English soldiers met them 
and asked them why they had come out. They 
answered that they had been put out because 
they had nothing to eat, and their sorrowful, 
famished looks gained pity for them. King 
Edward sent orders that not only should they 
go safely through his camp, but that they 
should all rest, and have the first hearty dinner 
that they had eaten for many a day, and he 
sent each one a small sum of money before 
they left the camp, so that many of them went 
on their way praying aloud for the enemy who 
had been so kind to them. 

A great deal happened whilst King Edward 
kept watch in his wooden town and the citizens 
of Calais guarded their walls. England was 
invaded by King David II. of Scotland, with a 
great army, and the good Queen Philippa, who 
was left to govern at home in the name of her 
little son Lionel, assembled all the forces that 
were left at home, and sent them to meet him. 
And one autumn day, a ship crossed the Straits 
of Dover, and a messenger brought King Ed- 
ward letters from his queen to say that the 
Scots army had been entirely defeated at Nevil’s 


THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 


12 * 


Cross, near Durham, and that their king was a 
prisoner, but that he had been taken by a 
squire named John Copeland, who would not 
give him up to her. 

King Edward sent letters to John Copeland 
to come to him at Calais, and when the squire 
had made his journey, the king took him by 
the hand, saying : “ Ha ! welcome, my squire, 
who by his valor has captured our adversary 
the king of Scotland.” 

Copeland, falling on one knee, replied : “ If 
God, out of His great kindness, has given me 
the King of Scotland, no one ought to be jealous 
of it, for God can, when He pleases, send His 
grace to a poor squire as well as to a great lord'. 
Sir, do not take it amiss if I did not surrender' 
him to the orders of my lady the queen, for 1" 
hold my lands of you, and my oath is to you, 
not to her.” 

The king was not displeased with his squire’s; 
sturdiness, but made him a knight, gave him a 
pension of £500 a year, and desired him to 
surrender his prisoner to the queen, as his own 
representative. This was accordingly done, and! 
King David was lodged in the Tower of Lon- 
don. Soon after, three days before All Saints” 
Day, there was a large and gay fleet to be seen 
crossing from the white cliffs of Dover, and the 
king, his son, and his knights, rode down to the 
landing-place to welcome plump, fair-haired 
Queen Philippa, and all her train of ladies,, 
who had come in great numbers to visit their 
husbands, fathers or brothers in the wooden 
town. Then there was a great court, aad 


130 


BOOK OP GOLDEN DEEDS. 


numerous feasts and dances, and the knignts and 
squires were constantly striving who could do 
the bravest deed of prowess to please the ladies. 
The King of France had placed numerous 
knights and men-at-arms in the neighboring 
towns and castles, and there were constant 
fights whenever the English went out foraging, 
and many bold deeds that were much admired 
were done. The great point was to keep pro- 
visions out of the- town, and there was much 
fighting between the French who tried to bring 
in supplies and the English who intercepted 
them. Very little was brought in by land, and 
Sir Jean de Vienne and his garrison would have 
been quite starved but for two sailors of Abbe- 
ville, named Marant and Mestriel, who knew 
the coast thoroughly, and often, in the dark 
:autumn evenings, would guide in a whole fleet 
•of little boats, loaded with bread and meat for 
the starving men within the city. They were 
often chased by King Edward’s vessels, and were 
sometimes very nearly taken, but they always 
managed to escape, and thus they still enabled 
the garrison to hold out. 

So all the winter passed. Christmas was 
kept with brilliant feastings and high merri- 
ment by the king and his queen in their wooden 
palace outside, and with lean cheeks and scanty 
fare by the besieged within. Lent was strictly 
observed perforce by the besieged, and Easter 
brought a betrothal in the English camp ; a 
very unwilling one on the part of the bride- 
groom, the young Count of Flanders, who loved 
the French much better than the English, and 


THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 


131 

had only been tormented into giving his con- 
sent by his unruly vassals because they de- 
pended on the wool of English sheep for their 
cloth works. So, though King Edward’s 
daughter Isabel was a beautiful fair-haired girl 
of fifteen, the young Count would scarcely look 
at her ; and in the last week before the marriage- 
day, while her robes and her jewels were being 
prepared, and her father and mother were ar- 
ranging the presents they should make to all 
their court on her wedding-day, the bridegroom, 
when out hawking, gave his attendants the 
slip, and galloped off to Paris, where he was 
welcomed by King Philippe. 

This made Edward very wrathful, and more 
than ever determined to take Calais. About 
Whitsuntide he completed a great wooden castle 
upon the sea-shore, and placed in it numerous 
warlike engines, with forty men-at-arms and 
200 archers, who kept such a watch upon the 
harbor that not even the two Abbeville sailors 
could enter it, without having their boats 
crushed and sunk by the great stones that the 
mangonels launched upon them. The towns- 
people began to feel what hunger really was, 
out their spirits were kept up by the hope that 
their king was at last collecting an army for 
their rescue. 

And Philippe did collect all his forces, a 
great and noble army, and came one night to 
the hill of Sandgate, just behind the English 
army, the knights’ armor glancing and their 
pennons flying in the moonlight, so as to be a 
beautiful sight to the hungry garrison who 


132 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

could see the white tents pitched upon the 
hillside. Still there were but two roads by 
which the French could reach their friends in 
the town, — one along the sea-coast, the other 
by a marshy road higher up the country, and 
there was but one bridge by which the river 
could be crossed. The English king’s fleet 
could prevent any troops from passing along 
the coast road, the Earl of Derby guarded 
the bridge, and there was a great tower, strongly 
fortified, close upon Calais. There were a few 
skirmishes, but the French king, finding it 
difficult to force his way to relieve the town, 
sent a party of knights with a challenge to 
King Edward to come out of his camp and 
do battle upon a fair field. 

To this Edward made answer that he had 
been nearly a year before Calais, and had 
spent large sums of money on the siege, and 
that he had nearly become master of the place, 
so that he had no intention of coming out 
only to gratify his adversary, who must try 
some other road if he could not make his 
way in by that before him. 

Three days were spent in parleys, and then, 
without the slightest effort to rescue the 
brave, patient men within the town, away 
went King Philippe of France, with all his 
men, and the garrison saw the host that had 
crowded the hill of Sandgate melt away like 
a summer cloud. 

August had come again, and they had suf- 
fered privation for a whole year for the sake of 
the king who deserted them at their utmost 


THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 


133 


need. They were in so grievous a state of hun- 
ger and distress that the hardiest could endure 
no more, for ever since Whitsuntide no fresh 
provisions had reached them. The governor, 
therefore, went to the battlements and made 
signs that he wished to hold a parley, and the 
king appointed Lord Basset and Sir Walter 
Mauny to meet him, and appoint the terms of 
surrender. 

The governor owned that the garrison was 
reduced to the greatest extremity of distress, 
and requested that the king would be contented 
with obtaining the city and fortress, leaving the 
soldiers and inhabitants to depart in peace. 

But Sir Walter Mauny was forced to make 
answer that the king, his lord, was so much 
enraged at the delay and expense that Calais 
had cost him, that he would only consent to 
receive the whole on conditional terms, leaving 
him free to slay,* or to ransom, or make pris- 
oners whomsoever he pleased, and he was 
known to consider that there was a heavy 
reckoning to pay, both for the trouble the siege 
had cost him and the damage the Calesians had 
previously done to his ships. 

The brave answer was : “ These conditions 
are too hard for us. We are but a small num- 
ber of knights and squires, who have loyally 
served our lord and master as you would have 
done, and have suffered much ill and disquiet, 
but we will endure far more than any man has 
done in such a post, before we consent that the 
smallest boy in the town shall fare worse than 
ourselves. I therefore entreat you, for pity’s 


134 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

sake, to return to the king and beg him to have 
compassion, for I have such an opinion of his 
gallantry that I think he will alter his mind.” 

The king’s mind seemed, however, sternly 
made up ; and all that Sir Walter Mauny and 
the barons of the council could obtain from him 
was that he would pardon the garrison and 
townsmen on condition that six of the chief 
citizens should present themselves to him, com- 
ing forth with bare feet and heads, with halters 
round their necks, carrying the keys of the 
town, and becoming absolutely his own to 
punish for their obstinacy as he should think fit. 

On hearing this reply, Sir Jean de Vienne 
begged Sir Walter Mauny to wait till he could 
consult the citizens, and, repairing to the 
market-place, he caused a great bell to be rung, 
at sound of which all the inhabitants came 
together in the town-hall. When he told them of 
these hard terms he could mot refrain from 
weeping bitterly, and wailing and lamentation 
arose all round him. Should all starve 
together, or sacrifice their best and most hon- 
ored after all suffering in common so long ? 

Then a voice was heard : it was that of the 
richest burgher in the town, Eustache de St. 
Pierre. “Messieurs, high and low,” he said, 
“ it would be a sad pdy to suffer so many peo- 
ple to die through hunger, if it could be pre- 
vented ; and to hinder it would be meritorious 
in the eyes of our Saviour. I have such faith 
and trust in finding grace before God, if I die 
to save my townsmen, that I name myself as 
first of the six.” 


THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 


135 


As the burgher ceased, his fellow-townsmen 
wept aloud, and many, amid tears and groans, 
threw themselves at his feet in a transport of 
grief and gratitude. Another citizen, very rich 
and respected, rose up and said, “ I will be 
second to my comrade, Eustache. ,, His name- 
was Jean Haire. After him Jacques Wissant, 
another very rich man, offered himself as com- 
panion to these, who were both his cousins 
and his brother Pierre would not be left behind Ir- 
an d two more, unnamed, made up this gallant 
band of men willing to offer their lives for the 
rescue of their fellow-townsmen. 

Sir Jean de Vienne mounted a little horse — 
for he had been wounded, and was still lame — 
and came to the gate with them, followed by all 
the people of the town, weeping and wailing, 
yet, for their own sakes and their children’s, 
not daring to prevent the sacrifice. The gates 
were opened, the governor and the six passed 
out, and the gates were again shut behind 
them. Sir Jean then rode up to Sir Walter 
Mauny, and told him how these burghers had 
voluntarily offered themselves, begging him to 
do all in his power to save them ; and Sir 
Walter promised with his whole heart to plead 
their cause. He Vienne then went back into 
the town, full of heaviness and anxiety ; and 
the six citizens were led by Sir Walter to the 
presence of the king, in his full court. They' 
all knelt down, and the foremost said : “ Most 
gallant king, you see before you six burghers 
of Calais, who have all been capital merchants, 
iwd who bring you the keys of the castle and 


136 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

town. We yield ourselves to your absolute will 
and pleasure, in order to save the remainder of 
the inhabitants of Calais, who have suffered 
much distress and misery. Condescend, there- 
fore, out of your nobleness of mind to have pity 
on us.” 

Strong emotion was excited among all the 
barons and knights who stood round, as they 
saw the resigned countenances, pale and thin 
with patiently-endured hunger, of these vener- 
able men, offering themselves in the cause of 
their fellow-townsmen. Many tears of pity 
were shed ; but the king still showed himself 
implacable, and commanded that they should 
be led away, and their heads stricken off. Sir 
Walter Mauny interceded for them with all his 
might, even telling the king that such an 
■execution would tarnish his honor, and that 
reprisals would be made on his own garrisons ; 
and all the nobles joined in entreating pardon 
for the citizens, but still without effect ; and the 
headsman had been actually sent for, when 
Queen Philippa, her eyes streaming with tears, 
threw herself on her knees amongst the cap- 
tives, and said, “ Ah, gentle sir, since I have 
crossed the sea, with much danger, to see you, 
I have never asked you one favor ; now I beg 
as a boon to myself, for the sake of the Son of 
the Blessed Mary, and for your love to me, that 
you will be merciful to these men ! ” 

For some time the king looked at her in 
silence ; then he exclaimed : “ Dame, dame, 
would that you had been anywhere than here ! 
You have entreated in such a manner that I 


THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 137 

cannot refuse you ; I therefore give these men 
to you, to do as you please with.” 

Joyfully did Queen Philippa conduct the six 
citizens to her own apartments, where she made 
them welcome, sent them new garments, enter- 
tained them with a plentiful dinner, and dis- 
missed them each with a gift of six nobles. After 
this, Sir Walter Mauny entered the city, and 
took possession of it; retaining Sir Jean de 
Vienne and the other knights and squires till 
they should ransom themselves, and sending out 
the old French inhabitants ; for the king was 
resolved to people the city entirely with 
English, in order to gain a thoroughly strong 
hold of this first step in France. 

The king and queen took up their abode in 
the city ; and the houses of Jean Daire were, 
it appears, granted to the queen, — perhaps, 
because she considered the man himself as her 
charge, and wished to secure them for him, — 
and her little daughter Margaret was, shortly 
after, born in one of his houses. Eustache de 
St. Pierre was taken into high favor, and was 
placed in charge of the new citizens whom the 
king placed in the city. 

Indeed, as this story is told by no chronicler 
but Froissart, some have doubted of it, and 
thought the violent resentment thus imputed to 
Edward III. inconsistent with his general char- 
acter ; but it is evident that the men of Calais had 
given him strong provocation by attacks on his 
shipping, — piracies which are not easily forgiven, 
— and that he considered that he had a right to 
make an example of them. It is not unlikely that 


138 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

he might, after all, have intended to forgive them, 
and have given the queen the grace of ob- 
taining their pardon, so as to excuse himself from 
the fulfillment of some overhasty threat. But, 
however this may have been, nothing can lessen 
the glory of the six grave and patient men who 
went forth, by their own free will, to meet what 
might be a cruel and disgraceful death, in order 
to obtain the safety of their fellow-townsmen. 


THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 

1397. 

Nothing in history has been more remarkable 
than the union of the cantons and cities of the 
little republic of Switzerland. Of differing races, 
languages, and, latterly, even religions, — unlike 
in habits, tastes, opinions, and costumes, — they 
have, however, been held together, as it were, 
by pressure from without, and one spirit of 
patriotism has kept the little mountain republic 
complete for five hundred years. 

Originally the lands were fiefs of the Holy 
Roman Empire, the city municipalities owning 
the emperor for their lord ; and the great 
family of Hapsburg, in whom the empire 
became at length hereditary, was in reality 
Swiss, the county that gave them title lying in 
the canton of Aargau. Rodolf of Hapsburg 
was elected leader of the burghers of Zurich, 
long before he was chosen to the empire ; and 


THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 139 

he continued a Swiss in heart, retaining his 
mountaineer’s open simplicity and honesty to 
the end of his life. Privileges were granted by 
him to the cities and the nobles, and the country 
was loyal and prosperous in his reign. 

His son Albert, the same who was slain by 
his nephew Johann, as before mentioned, per- 
mitted those tyrannies of his bailiffs which 
goaded the Swiss to their celebrated revolt, and 
commenced the long series of wars with the 
House of Hapsburg, — or, as it was now termed, 
of Austria, — which finally established their 
independence. 

On the one side, the Dukes of Austria and 
their ponderous German chivalry, wanted to- 
reduce the cantons and cities to vassalage, not 
to the Imperial Crown, a distant and scarcely 
felt obligation, but to the Duchy of Austria *, 
on the other, the hardy mountain peasants and 
stout burghers well knew their true position,, 
and were aware that to admit the Austrian 
usurpation would expose their young men to be 
drawn upon for the Duke’s wars, cause their 
property to be subject to perpetual rapacious 
exactions, and fill their hills with castles for 
ducal bailiffs, who would be little better than 
licensed robbers. No wonder, then, that the 
generation of William Tell and Arnold 
Melcthal bequeathed a resolute purpose of 
resistance to their descendants. 

It was in 1397, ninety years since the first 
assertion of Swiss independence, when Leopold 
the Handsome, Duke of Austria, a bold but 
misproud and violent prince, involved himself 


140 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

in one of the constant quarrels with the Swiss 
that were always arising on account of the 
insulting exactions of toll and tribute in the 
Austrian border cities. A sharp w 7 ar broke out, 
and the Swiss city of Lucerne took the oppor- 
tunity of destroying the Austrian castle of 
Rothemburg, where the tolls had been particu- 
larly vexatious, and of admitting to their league 
the cities of Sempach and Richensee. 

Leopold and all the neighboring nobles 
united their forces. Hatred and contempt of 
the Swiss, as low-born and presumptuous, 
spurred them on ; and twenty messengers 
reached the Duke in one day, with promises 
of support, in his march against Sempach and 
Lucerne. He had sent a large force in the 
direction of Zurich with Johann Bonstetten, 
and advanced himself with 4000 horse and 
1400 foot upon Sempach. Zurich undertook 
its own defence, and the Forest Cantons sent 
their brave peasants to the support of Lucerne 
and Sempach, but only to the number of 1300, 
who, on the ninth of July, took post in the 
woods around the little lake of Sempach. 
Meanwhile, Leopold’s troops rode round the 
walls of the little city, insulting the inhabi- 
tants ; one holding up a halter, which he said 
was for the chief magistrate ; and another, 
pointing to the reckless waste that his comrades 
were perpetrating on the fields, shouted, “ Send 
a breakfast to the reapers.” The burgomaster 
pointed to the woods where his allies lay hid, 
and answered, “ My masters of Lucerne and 
their friends will bring it.” 


THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 141 

The story of that day was told by one of the 
burghers who fought in the ranks of Lucerne, 
a shoemaker, named Albert Tchudi, who was 
both a brave warrior and a master-singer ; and 
as his ballad was translated by another master- 
singer, Sir Walter Scott, and is the spirited 
record of an eye-witness, we will quote from 
him some of his descriptions of the battle and 
its Golden Deed. 

The Duke’s wiser friends proposed to wait 
till he could be joined by Bonstetten and the 
troops who had gone toward Zurich, and the 
Baron von Hasenberg (i. e., hare-rock) strongly 
urged this prudent counsel ; but — 

“ ‘ O Hare-Castle, thou heart of hare ! ’ 
Fierce Oxenstiern he cried, 

4 Shalt see then how the game will fare/ 
The taunted knight replied.” 

“ This very noon,” said the younger knight 
to the Duke, “ we will deliver up to you this 
handful of villains.” 

44 And thus they to each other said, 

‘ Yon handful down to hew 
Will be no boastful tale to tell, 

The peasants are so few.’ ” 

Characteristically enough, the doughty cob- 
bler describes how the first execution that took 
place was the lopping off the long-peaked toes 
of the boots that the gentlemen wore chained 
to their knees, and which would have impeded 
them on foot ; since it had been decided that 


142 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

the horses were too much tired to be serviceable 
in the action. 

“ There was lacing then of helmets bright, 
And closing ranks amain, 

The peaks they hewed from their boot points 
Might wellnigh load a wain.” 

They were drawn up in a solid compact body, 
presenting an unbroken line of spears, project- 
ing beyond the wall of gay shields and polished 
impenetrable armor. 

The Swiss were not only few in number, but 
armor was scarce among them ; some had only 
boards fastened on their arms by way of shields; 
some had halberds, which had been used by 
their fathers at the battle of Morgarten ; others 
two-handed swords and battle-axes. They drew 
themselves up in form of a wedge, and 

“ The gallant Swiss confederates then 
They prayed to God aloud, 

And He displayed His rainbow fair 
Against a swarthy cloud.” 

Then they rushed upon the serried spears, but 
in vain. “ The game was nothing sweet.” 

The banner of Lucerne was in the utmost 
danger, the Landamman was slain, and sixty 
of his men, and not an Austrian had been 
wounded. The flanks of the Austrian host 
began to advance so as to enclose the small 
peasant force, and involve it in irremediable 
destruction. A moment of dismay and stillness 
ensued. Then Arnold von Winkelried «f 


THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 143 

Unterwalden, with an eagle glance saw the 
only means of saving his country, and, with 
the decision of a man who dares by dying to 
do all things, shouted aloud: “I will open a 
passage.” 

“ * I have a virtuous wife at home, 

A wife and infant son : 

I leave them to my country’s care, 

The field shall yet be won ! ’ 

He rushed against the Austrian band 
In desperate career, 

And with his body, breast, and hand. 

Bore down each hostile spear ; 

Four lances splintered on his crest, 

Six shivered in his side, 

Still on the serried files he pressed. 

He broke their ranks and died ! ” 

The very weight of the desperate charge of 
this self-devoted man opened a breach in the 
line of spears. In rushed the Swiss wedge, and 
the weight of the nobles’ armor and length of 
their spears was only encumbering. They 
began to fall before the Swiss blows, and Duke 
Leopold was urged to fly. “ I had rather die 
honorably than live with dishonor,” he said. 
He saw his standard-bearer struck to the ground, 
and seizing his banner from his hand, waved it 
over his head, and threw himself among the 
thickest of the foe. His corpse was found amid 
a heap of slain, and no less than 2000 of his 
companions perished with him, of whom a third 
are said to have been counts, barons, and knights. 


144 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

“ Then lost was banner, spear, and shield 
At Sempach in the flight ; 

The cloister vaults at Konigsfeldt 
Hold many an Austrian knight.” 

The Swiss only lost 200 ; but, as they were 
spent with the excessive heat of the July sun, 
they did not pursue their enemies. They gave 
thanks on the battlefield to the God of vic- 
tories, and the next day buried the dead, carry- 
ing Duke Leopold and twenty-seven of his most 
illustrious companions to the Abbey of Konigs- 
feldt, where they buried him in the old tomb 
of his forefathers, the lords of Aargau, who had 
been laid there in the good old times, before 
the house of Hapsburg had grown arrogant 
with success. 

As to the master-singer, he tells us of himself 
that 


“ A merry man was he, I wot, 

The night he made the lay, 

Returning from the bloody spot 
Where God had judged the day.” 

On every ninth of July subsequently, the 
people of the country have been wont to assem- 
ble on the battlefield, around four stone crosses 
which mark the spot. A priest from a pulpit 
in the open air gives a thanksgiving sermon on 
the victory that insured the freedom of Switzer- 
land, and another reads the narrative of the 
battle, and the roll of the brave 200, who, after 
Winkelried’s example, gave their lives in the 
cause. All this is in the face of the mountains 


SIR THOMAS MORE’S DAUGHTER. 145 

and the lake now lying in summer stillness, and 
the harvest fields whose crops are secure from 
marauders, and the congregation then proceed 
to the small chapel, the walls of which are 
painted with the deed of Arnold von Winkel- 
ried, and the other distinguished achievements 
of the confederates, and masses are sung for the 
souls of those who were slain. No wonder that 
men thus nurtured in the memory of such 
actions were, even to the fall of the French 
monarchy, among the most trustworthy soldiery 
of Europe. 


SIR THOMAS MORE’S DAUGHTER. 

1535. 

We have seen how dim and doubtful was the 
belief that upbore the grave and beautiful Anti- 
gone in her self-sacrifice ; but there have been 
women who have been* as brave and devoted in 
their care for the mortal remains of their 
friends, — not from the heathen fancy that the 
weal of the dead depended on such rites, but 
from their earnest love and with a fuller trust 
beyond. 

Such was the spirit of Beatrix, a noble maiden 
of Rome, who shared the Christian faith of her 
two brothers, Simplicius and Faustinus, at the 
end of the third century. For many years 
there had been no persecution, and the Chris* 
tians were living at peace, worshiping freely, 
and venturing even to raise churches. Young 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


146 

people had grown up to whom the being thrown 
to the lions, beheaded, or burnt for the faith’s 
sake, was but a story of the times gone by. 
But under the Emperor Diocletian all was 
changed. The old heathen gods must be 
worshiped, incense must be burnt to the statue 
of the emperor, or torture and death were the 
punishment. The two brothers Simplicius and 
Faustinus were thus asked to deny their faith, 
and resolutely refused. They were cruelly tor- 
tured, and at length beheaded, and their bodies 
thrown into the tawny waters of the Tiber. 
Their sister Beatrix had taken refuge with a 
poor, devout Christian woman, named Lucina. 
But she did not desert her brothers in death ; 
she made her way in secret to the bank of the river, 
watching to see whether the stream might bear 
down the corpses so dear to her. Driven along, 
so as to rest upon the bank, she found them at 
last, and, by the help of Lucina, she laid them 
in the grave in the cemetery called Ad Ursum 
Pileatum. For seven months she remained in 
her shelter, but she was at last denounced, and 
was brought before the tribunal, where she 
made answer that nothing should induce her to 
adore gods made of wood and stone. She was 
strangled in her prison, and her corpse being 
cast out, was taken home by Lucina, and buried 
beside her brothers. It was, indeed, a favorite 
charitable work of the Christian widows at Rome 
to provide for the burial of the martyrs ; and as 
for the most part they were poor, old, obscure 
women, they could perform this good work with 
far less notice than could persons of more mark. 


SIR THOMAS MORE’S DAUGHTER. 147 

But nearer our own times Great Britain 
shows a truly Christian Antigone, resembling 
the Greek lady, both in her dutifulness to the 
living, and in her tender care for the dead. 
This was Margaret, the favorite daughter of Sir 
Thomas More, the true-hearted, faithful states- 
man of King Henry VIII. 

Margaret’s home had been an exceedingly 
happy one. Her father, Sir Thomas More, was 
a man of the utmost worth, and was both earn- 
estly religious and conscientious, and of a 
sweetness of manner and playfulness of fancy 
that endeared him to every one. He was one 
of the most affectionate and dutiful of sons to 
his aged father, Sir John More ; and when the 
son was Lord Chancellor, while the father was 
only a judge, Sir Thomas, on his way to his 
court, never failed to kneel down before his 
father in public, and ask his blessing. Never 
was the old saying, that a dutiful child has 
dutiful children, better exemplified than in the 
More family. In the times when it was usual 
for parents to be very stern with children, and 
keep them at a great distance, sometimes mak- 
ing them stand in their presence, and striking 
them for any slight offence, Sir Thomas More 
thought it his duty to be friendly and affec- 
tionate with them, to talk to them, and to enter 
into their confidence ; and he was rewarded 
with their full love and duty. 

He had four children, — Margaret, Elizabeth, 
Cicely, and John. His much-loved wife died 
when they were all very young, and he thought 
it for their good to marry a widow, Mrs. Alice 


148 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Middleton, with one daughter, named Margaret, 
and he likewise adopted an orphan called Mar- 
garet Giggs. With this household he lived in a 
beautiful large house at Chelsea, with well- 
trimmed gardens sloping down to the Thames ; 
and this was the resort of the most learned and 
able men, both English and visitors from 
abroad, who delighted in pacing the shady 
walks, listening to the wit and wisdom of Sir 
Thomas, or conversing with the daughters, who 
had been highly educated, and had much of 
their father’s humor and sprightliness. Even 
Henry VIII. himself, then one of the most 
brilliant and graceful gentlemen of his time, 
would sometimes arrive in his royal barge, and 
talk theology or astronomy with Sir Thomas ; 
or, it might be, crack jests with him and his 
daughters, or listen to the music in which all 
were skilled, even Lady More having been per- 
suaded in her old age to learn to play on various 
instruments, including the flute. The daughters 
were early given in marriage, and, with their 
husbands, continued to live under their father’s 
roof. Margaret’s husband was William Roper, 
a young lawyer, of whom Sir Thomas was very 
fond, and his household at Chelsea was thus a 
large and joyous family home of children and 
grandchildren, delighting in the kind, bright 
smiles of the open face under the square cap, 
that the great painter Holbein has sent down to 
us as a familiar sight. 

But these glad days were not to last forever. 
The trying times of the reign of Henry VIII. 
were beginning, and the question had been 


SIR THOMAS MORE’S DAUGHTER. 149 

stirred whether the king’s marriage with Katha- 
rine of Aragon had been a. lawful one. When 
Sir Thomas More found that the king was 
determined to take his own course, and to 
divorce himself without permission from the 
Pope, it was against his conscience to remain in 
office when acts were being done which he could 
not think right or lawful. He therefore re- 
signed his office as Lord Chancellor, and, feeling 
himself free from the load and temptation, his 
gay spirits rose higher than ever. His manner 
of communicating the change to his wife, who had 
been very proud of his state and dignity, was 
thus. At church, when the service was over, it 
had always been the custom for one of his 
attendants to summon Lady More by coming 
to her closet door, and saying, “ Madam, my 
lord is gone.” On the day after his resigna- 
tion, he himself stepped up, and with a low bow 
said, “ Madam, my lord is gone,” for in good 
sooth he was no longer Chancellor, but only 
plain Sir Thomas. 

He thoroughly enjoyed his leisure, but he 
was not long left in tranquillity. When Anne 
Boleyn was crowned, he was invited to be pres- 
ent, and twenty pounds were offered him to buy 
a suitably splendid dress for the occasion ; but 
his conscience would not allow him to accept 
the invitation, though he well knew the terrible 
peril he ran by offending the king and queen. 
Thenceforth there was a determination to ruin 
him. First, he was accused of taking bribes 
wheu administering justice. It was said that a 
gilt cup had been given to him as a new-year’s 


15 (> BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

gift, by one lady, and a pair of gloves filled 
with gold coins by another ; but it turned out, 
on examination, that he had drunk the wine 
out of the cup, and accepted the gloves, because 
it was ill manners to refuse a lady’s gift, 
yet he had in both cases given back the 
gold. 

Next, a charge was brought that he had been 
leaguing with a half-crazy woman called the 
Nun of Kent, who had said violent things about 
the king. He was sent for to be examined by 
Henry and his Council, and this he well knew 
was the interview on which his safety would 
turn, since the accusation was a mere pretext, 
and the real purpose of the king was to see 
whether he would go along with him in break- 
ing away from Rome, a proceeding that Sir 
Thomas, both as churchman and as lawyer, 
could not think legal. Whether we agree or 
not in his views, it must always be remembered 
that he ran into danger by speaking the truth, 
and doing what he thought right. He really 
loved his master, and he knew the humor of 
Henry VIII., and the temptation was sore ; but 
when he came down from his conference with 
the king in the tower, and was rowed down the 
river to Chelsea, he was so merry that William 
Roper, who had been waiting for him in the 
boat, thought he must be safe, and said, as they 
landed and walked up the garden, — 

“ I trust, sir, all is well, since you are so 
merry ?” 

“ It is so, indeed, son, thank God ! ” 

“ Are you then, sir, put out of the bill ? ” 


SIR THOMAS MORE’S DAUGHTER. 151 

“ Wouldst thou know, son, why I am so joy- 
ful ? In good faith I rejoice that I have given 
the devil a foul fall ; because I have with those 
lords gone so far that without great shame I 
can never go back ? ” he answered, meaning 
that he had been enabled to hold so firmly to 
his opinions, and speak them out so boldly, that 
henceforth the temptation to dissemble them 
and please the king would be much lessened. 
That he had held his purpose in spite of the 
weakness of mortal nature, was true joy to him, 
though he was so well aware of the conse- 
quences that when his daughter Margaret came 
to him the next day with the glad tidings that 
the charge against him had been given up, he 
calmly answered her : “ In faith, Meg, what is 
put off is not given up.” 

One day, when he had asked Margaret how 
the world went with the new queen, and she 
replied, “ In faith, father, never better ; there 
is nothing else in the court but dancing and 
sporting,” he replied with sad foresight, “Never 
better. Alas, Meg ! it pitieth me to remember 
unto what misery, poor soul, she will shortly 
come. These dances of hers will prove such 
dances that she will spurn off our heads like 
foot-balls, but it will not be long ere her head 
will take the same dance.” 

So entirely did he expect to be summoned 
by a pursuivant that he thought it would lessen 
the fright of his family if a sham summons 
were brought. So he caused a great knocking 
to be made while all were at dinner, and the 
sham pursuivant went through all the forms of 


152 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

citing him, and the whole household were in 
much alarm, till he explained the jest ; but the 
earnest came only a few days afterward. On 
the thirteenth of April, 1534, arrived the real 
pursuivant to summon him to Lambeth, there 
to take the oath of supremacy, declaring that 
the king was the head of the Church of Eng- 
land, and that the Pope had no authority there. 
He knew w r hat the refusal would bring on him. 
He went first to church, and then, not trusting 
himself to be unmanned by his love for his 
children and grandchildren, instead of letting 
them, as usual come down to the water side, 
with tender kisses and merry farewells, he shut 
the wicket-gate of the garden upon them all, 
and only allowed his son-in-law Roper to accom- 
pany him, whispering into his ear, “ I thank 
our Lord, the field is won.” 

Conscience had triumphed over affection, and 
he was thankful, though for the last time he 
looked on the trees he had planted and the 
happy home he had loved. Before the Council, 
he undertook to swear to some clauses in the 
oath which were connected with the safety of 
the realm ; but he refused to take that part of 
the oath which related to the king’s power over 
the Church. It is said that the king would 
thus have been satisfied, but that the queen 
urged him further. At any rate, after being 
four days under the charge of the Abbot of 
Westminster, Sir Thomas was sent to the Tower 
of London. There his wife — a plain, dull 
woman, utterly unable to understand the point 
of conscience — came and scolded him for being 


SIR THOMAS MORE’S DAUGHTER. 153 

so foolish as to lie there in a close, filthy prison, 
and be shut up with rats and mice, instead of 
enjoying the favor of the king. He heard all 
she had to say, and answered, “I pray thee, 
good Mrs. Alice, tell me one thing, — is not this 
house as near heaven as my own ? ” To which 
she had no better answer than “ Tilly vally, 
tilly vally.” But in spite of her folly, she 
loved him faithfully ; and when all his property 
was seized, she sold even her clothes to obtain 
necessaries for him in prison. 

His chief comfort was, however, in visits and 
letters from his daughter Margaret, who was 
fully able to enter into the spirit that preferred 
death to transgression. He was tried in West- 
minster Hall, on the first of July, and, as he 
had fully expected, sentenced to death. He 
was taken back along the river to the Tower. 
On the wharf his loving Margaret was waiting 
for her last look. She broke through the guard 
of soldiers with bills and halberds, threw her 
arms round his neck, and kissed him, unable 
to say auy word but “ O, my father ! — O, my 
father ! ” He blessed her, and told her that 
whatsoever she might suffer, it was not without 
the will of God, and she must therefore be 
patient. After having once parted with him, 
she suddenly turned back again, ran to him, 
and, clinging round his neck, kissed him over 
and over again, — a sight at which the guards 
themselves wept. She never saw him again ; 
but the night before his execution he wrote to 
her a letter with a piece of charcoal, with tender 
remembrances to all the family, and saying t« 


154 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

her, “I never liked your manner better than 
when you kissed me last ; for I am most pleased 
when daughterly love and dear charity have 
no leisure to look to worldly courtesy.” He 
likewise made it his especial request that she 
might be permitted to be present at his burial. 

His hope was sure and steadfast, and his 
heart so firm that he did not even cease from 
humorous sayings. When he mounted the 
crazy ladder of the scaffold he said, “Master 
Lieutenant, I pray you see me safe up ; and 
for my coming down let me shift for myself.” 
And he desired the executioner to give him 
time to put his beard out of the way of the 
stroke, “ since that had never offended his 
Highness.” 

His body was given to his family, and laid 
in the tomb he had already prepared in Chelsea 
church ; but the head was set up on a pole on 
London Bridge. The calm, sweet features 
were little changed, and the loving daughter 
gathered courage as she looked up at them. 
How she contrived the deed, is not known ; 
but, before many days had past, the head was 
no longer there, and Mrs. Roper was said to 
have taken it away. She was sent for to the 
Council, and accused of the stealing of her 
father’s head. She shrank not from avowing 
that thus it had been, and that the head was in 
her own possession. One story says that as she 
was passing under the bridge in a boat, she 
looked up, and said, “ That head has often lain 
in my lap ; I would that it would now fall into 
it.” And at that moment it actually fell, and 


THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 155 

she received it. It is far more likely that she 
went by design, and at the same time as some 
faithful friend on the bridge, who detached the 
precious head, and dropped it down to her in 
the boat beneath. Be this as it may, she owned 
before the cruel-hearted Council, that she had 
taken away and cherished the head of the man 
w’hom they had slain as a traitor. However, 
Henry VIII. was not a Creon, and our Christian 
Antigone was dismissed unhurt by the Council, 
and allowed to retain possession of her treasure. 
She caused it to be embalmed, kept it with her 
wherever she went, and when, nine years after- 
ward, she died (in the year 1544), it was laid 
in her coffin in the “ Roper aisle ” of St. Dun- 
stan’s Church at Canterbury. 

o 

THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 

1622. 

In the early summer of the year 1605, a 
coasting vessel was sailing along the beautiful 
Gulf of Lyons, the wind blowing gently in the 
sails, the blue Mediterranean lying glittering 
to the south, and the curved line of the French 
shore rising in purple and green tints dotted 
with white towns and villages. Suddenly three 
light, white-sailed ships appeared in the offing, 
and the captain’s practiced eye detected that 
the wings that bore them were those of a bird of 
prey. He knew them for African brigantines, 


156 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

and though he made all sail, it was impossible 
to run into a French port, as on, on they came, 
not entirely depending on the wind, but, like 
steamers, impelled by unseen powers within 
them. Alas ! that power was not the force of 
innocent steam, but the arms of Christian 
rowers chained to the oar. Sure as the pounce 
of a hawk upon a partridge was the swoop of 
the corsairs upon the French vessel. A signal 
to surrender followed, but the captain boldly 
refused, and armed his crew, bidding them 
stand to their guns. But the fight was too 
unequal, the brave little ship was disabled, the 
pirates boarded her, and, after a sharp fight on 
deck, three of the crew lay dead, all the rest 
were wounded, and the vessel was the prize of 
the pirates. The captain was at once killed, in 
revenge for his resistance, and all the rest of 
the crew and passengers were put in chains. 
Among these passengers was a young priest 
named Vincent de Paul, the son of a farmer in 
Languedoc, who had used his utmost endeavors 
to educate his son for the ministry, even selling 
the oxen from the plough to provide for the 
college expenses. A small legacy had just 
fallen to the young man, from a relation who 
had died at Marseilles ; he had been thither to 
receive it, and had been persuaded by a friend 
to return home by sea. And this was the 
result of the pleasant voyage. The legacy was 
the prey of the pirates, and Vincent, severely 
wounded by an arrow, and heavily chained, 
lay half stifled in a corner of the hold of the 
ship, a captive probably for life to the enemies 


THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 


157 


of the faith. It was true that France had 
scandalized Europe by making peace with the 
Dey of Tunis, but this was a trifle to the cor- 
sairs ; and when, after seven days’ farther 
cruising, they put into the harbor of Tunis, 
they drew up an account of their capture, 
calling it a Spanish vessel, to prevent the 
French Consul from claiming the prisoners. 

The captives had the coarse blue and white 
garments of slaves given them, and were walked 
five or six times through the narrow streets 
and bazaars of Tunis, by way of exhibition. 
They were then brought back to their ship, 
and purchasers came thither to bargain for 
them. They were examined at their meals, to 
see if they had good appetites ; their sides were 
felt like oxen ; their teeth looked at like those 
of horses ; their wounds were searched, and they 
were made to run and walk to show the play 
of their limbs. All this Vincent endured with 
patient submission, constantly supported by the 
thought of Him who took upon Him the form 
of a servant for our sakes ; and he did his best, 
ill as he was, to give his companions the same 
confidence. 

Weak and unwell, Vincent was sold cheap 
to a fisherman ; but in his new service it soon 
became apparent that the sea made him so ill 
as to be of no use, so he was sold again to one 
of the Moorish physicians, the like of whom 
may still be seen, smoking their pipes sleepily, 
under their white turbans, cross-legged, among 
the drugs in their shop-windows, — these being 
small open spaces beneath the beautiful stone 


158 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

lace-work of the Moorish lattices. The physi- 
cian was a great chemist and distiller, and for 
four years had been seeking the philosopher’s 
stone, which was supposed to be the secret of 
making gold. He found his slave’s learning 
and intelligence so useful that he grew very 
fond of him, and tried hard to persuade him to 
turn Mahometan, offering him not only liberty, 
but the inheritance of his wealth, and the secrets 
that he had discovered. 

The Christian priest felt the temptation suffi- 
ciently to be always grateful for the grace that 
had carried him through it. At the end of a 
year, the old doctor died, and his nephew sold 
Vincent again. His next master was a native 
of Nice, who had not held out against the 
temptation to renounce his faith in order to 
avoid a life of slavery, but had become a rene- 
gade, and had the charge of one of the farms 
of the Dey of Tunis. The farm was on a hill- 
side in an extremely hot and exposed region, 
and Vincent suffered much from being there 
set to field labor, but he endured all without a 
murmur. His master had three wives, and one 
of them, who was of Turkish birth, used often to 
come out and talk to him, asking him many 
questions about his religion. Sometimes she 
asked him to sing, and he would then chant 
the psalm of the captive Jews : “ By the waters 
of Babylon we sat down and wept and others 
of the “songs” of his Zion. The woman at 
last told her husband th?+ he must have been 
wrong in forsaking a religion of which her slave 
had told her such wonderful things. Her 


THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 15$ 

words had such an effect on the renegade that 
he sought the slave, and in conversation with 
him soon came to a full sense of his own miser- 
able position as an apostate. A change of 
religion on the part of a Mahometan is, how- 
ever, always visited with death, both to the 
convert and his instructor. An Algerine, who 
was discovered to have become a Christian, was 
about this time said to have been walled up at 
once in the fortifications he had been building; 
and the story has been confirmed by the recent 
discovery, by the French engineers, of the 
remains of a man within a huge block of clay, 
that had taken a perfect cast of his Moorish 
features, and of the surface of his garments, 
and even had his black hair adhering to it. 
Vincent’s master, terrified at such perils, 
resolved to make his escape in secret with his 
slave. It is disappointing to hear nothing of 
the wife ; and not to know whether she would 
not or could not accompany them. All we 
know is, that master and slave trusted them- 
selves alone to a small bark, and safely cross- 
ing the Mediterranean, landed at Aigues 
Mortes, on the twenty-eighth of June, 1607 ; 
and that the renegade at once abjured his false 
faith, and soon after entered a brotherhood at 
Rome, whose office it was to await on the sick 
in hospitals. 

This part of Vincent de Paul’s life has been 
told at length, because it shows from what the 
Knights of St. John strove to protect the 
inhabitants of the coasts. We next find Vin- 
cent visiting at a hospital at Paris, where he 


160 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

gave such exceeding comfort to the patients 
that all with one voice declared him a messen- 
ger from heaven. 

He afterward became a tutor in the family 
of the Count de Joigni, a very excellent man, 
who was easily led by him to many good works. 
M. de Joigni was inspector-general of the 
“ Galeres,” or Hulk’s ships in the chief harbors 
of France, such as Brest and Marseilles, where 
the convicts, closely chained, were kept to hard 
labor, and often made to toil at the oar, like 
the slaves of the Africans. Going the round 
of these prison-shops, the horrible state of the 
convicts, their half-naked misery, and still 
more their fiendish ferocity, went to the heart 
of the Count and of the Abbe de Paul ; and, 
with full authority from the inspector, the tutor 
worked among these wretched beings with such 
good effect that, on his doings being represented 
to the king, Louis XIII., he was made almoner 
general to the galleys. 

While visiting those at Marseilles, he was 
much struck by the broken-down looks and 
exceeding sorrowfulness of one of the convicts. 
He entered into conversation with him, and, 
after many kind words, persuaded him to tell 
his troubles. His sorrow was far less for his 
own condition than for the misery to which his 
absence must needs reduce his wife and children. 
And what was Vincent’s reply to this? His 
action was so striking that, though in itself it 
could hardly be safe to propose it as an example, 
it must be mentioned as the very height of self- 
sacrifice. 


THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 


162 


He absolutely changed places with the con- 
vict. Probably some arrangement was made 
with the immediate jailer of the gang, who, by 
the exchange of the priest for the convict, could 
make up his full tale of men to show when his 
numbers were counted. At any rate the pri- 
soner went free, and returned to his home, 
whilst Vincent wore a convict’s chain, did a 
convict’s work, lived on convict fare, and, what 
was worse, had only convict society. He was 
soon sought out and released, but the hurts he 
had received from the pressure of the chain 
lasted all his life. He never spoke of this 
event ; it was kept a strict secret ; and once 
when he had referred to it in a letter to a friend, 
he became so much afraid that the story would 
become known that he sent to ask for the letter 
back again. It was, however, not returned, and 
it makes the fact certain. It would be a dan- 
gerous precedent if prison chaplains were to 
change places with their charges ; and beauti- 
ful as was Vincent’s spirit, the act can hardly 
be justified; but it should also be remembered 
that among the galleys of France there were 
there many who had been condemned for resist- 
ance to the arbitrary will of Cardinal de Riche- 
lieu, men not necessarily corrupt and degraded 
like the thieves and murderers with whom they 
were associated. At any rate, M. de Joigni did 
not displace the almoner, and Vincent worked 
on the consciences of the convicts with infinitely 
more force for having been for a time one of 
themselves. Many and many were won back 
to penitence, a hospital was founded for them, 


162 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


better regulations established, and, for a time, 
both prisons and galleys were wonderfully im- 
proved, although only for the lifetime of the 
good inspector and the saintly almoner. But 
who shall say how many souls were saved in 
those years by these men who did what they 
could ? 

The rest of the life of Vincent de Paul would 
be too lengthy to tell here, though acts of 
beneficence and self-devotion shine out in glory 
at each step. The work by which he is chiefly 
remembered is his establishment of the Order 
of Sisters of Charity, the excellent women who 
have for two hundred years been the prime 
workers in every charitable task in France, 
nursing the sick, teaching the young, tending 
deserted children, ever to be found where there 
is distress or pain. 

But of these, and of his charities, we will not 
there speak, nor even of his influence for good 
ion the king and queen themselves. The whole 
tenor of his life was “golden” in one sense, and 
if we told all his Golden Deeds they would fill 
an entire book. So we will only wait to tell 
how he showed his remembrance of what he had 
gone through in his African captivity. The 
redemption of the prisoners there might have 
seemed his first thought, but that he did so 
much in other quarters. At different times, 
with the alms that he collected, and out of the 
revenues of his benefices, he ransomed no less 
than twelve hundred slaves from their captivity. 
At one time the French Consul at Tunis wrote 
to him that, for a certain sum, a large number 


THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 


163 


might be set free, and he raised enough t& 
release not only these, but seventy more, and 
he further wrought upon the king to obtain the 
consent of the Dey of Tunis that a party of 
Christian clergy should be permitted to reside 
in the consul’s house, and to minister to the 
souls and bodies of the Christian slaves, of whom 
there were 6000 in Tunis alone, besides those 
in Algiers, Tangier, and Tripoli ! 

Permission was gained, and a mission of 
Lazarist brothers arrived. This, too, was an 
Order founded by Vincent, consisting of priestly 
nurses like the Hospitaliers, though not like 
them warriors. They came in the midst of a 
dreadful visitation of the plague, and nursed 
and tended the sick, both Christians and Ma- 
hometans, with fearless devotion, day and 
night, till they won the honor and love of the 
Moors themselves. 

The good Vincent de Paul died in the year 
1660, but his brothers of St. Lazarus and Sisters 
of Charity still tread in the paths he marked 
out for them, and his name scarcely needs the 
saintly epithet that his Church has affixed to it 
to stand among the most honorable of charitable 
men. 

The cruel deeds of the African pirates were 
never wholly checked till 1816, when the united 
fleets of England and France destroyed the old 
den of corsairs at Algiers, which has since 
become a French colony. 


164 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


THE HOUSEWIVES OF LOWENBURG. 

1631. 

Brave deeds have been done by the burgher 
dames of some of the German cities collectively. 
Without being of the first class of Golden Deeds, 
there is something in the exploit of the dames 
of Weinsberg so quaint and so touching, that it 
cannot be omitted here. 

It was in the first commencement of the long 
contest known as the strife between the Guelfs 
and Ghibellines — before even these had become 
the party words for the Pope’s and the em- 
peror’s friends, and when they only applied to 
the troops of Bavaria and Swabia — that, in 
1141, Wolf, Duke of Bavaria, was besieged in 
his castle of Weinsberg, by Friedrich, Duke 
of Swabia, brother to the reigning emperor, 
Konrad III. 

The siege lasted long, but Wolf was obliged 
at last to offer to surrender ; and the emperor 
granted him permission to depart in safety. 
But his wife did not trust to this fair offer. 
She had reason to believe that Konrad had a 
peculiar enmity to her husband ; and on his 
coming to take possession of the castle, she sent 
to him to entreat him to give her a safe conduct 
for herself and all the other women in the gar- 
rison, that they might come out with as much 
of their valuables as they could carry. 

This was freely granted, and presently the 
castle gates opened. From beneath them came 


THE HOUSEWIVES OP LOWENBURG. 165 

the ladies, — but in strange guise. No gold nor 
jewels were carried by them, but each one was 
bending under the weight of her husband, whom 
she thus hoped to secure from the vengeance of 
the Ghibellines. Konrad, who was really a 
generous and merciful man, is said to have been 
affected to tears by this extraordinary perform- 
ance ; he hastened to assure the ladies of the 
perfect safety of their lords, and that the gentle- 
men might dismount at once, secure both of life 
and freedom. He invited them all to a banquet, 
and made peace with the Duke of Bavaria on 
terms much more favorable to the Guelf than 
the rest of his party had been willing to allow. 
The castle mount was thenceforth called no 
longer the vine hill, but the Hill of Weiber- 
treue, or woman’s fidelity. We will not invidi- 
ously translate it woman’s truth, for there was 
in the transaction something of a subterfuge 
and it must be owned that the ladies tried tc 
the utmost the knightly respect for womankind. 

The good women of Lowenburg, who were 
but citizens’ wives, seem to us more worthy of 
admiration for constancy to their faith, shown 
at a time when they had little to aid them. It 
was such constancy as makes martyrs; and 
though the trial stopped short of this, there i3 
something in the homeliness of the whole scene, 
and the feminine form of passive resistance, 
that makes us so much honor and admire the 
good women that we cannot refrain from telling 
the story. 

It was in the year 1631, in the midst of the 
long Thirty Years’ War between Homan Catho- 


166 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

lies and Protestants, which finally decided that 
each state should have its own religion, Lowen- 
burg, a city in Silesia, originally Protestant, 
had passed into the hands of the emperor’s 
Roman Catholic party. It was a fine old Ger- 
man city, standing amid woods and meadows, 
fortified with strong walls surrounded by a 
moat, and with gate towers to protect the entrance. 

In the centre was a large market-place, called 
the Ring, into which looked the council-house 
and fourteen inns, or places of traffic, for the 
cloth that was woven in no less than three hun- 
dred factories. The houses were of stone, with 
gradually projecting stories to the number of 
four or five, surmounted with pointed gables. 
The ground floors had once had trellised 
porches, but these had been found inconvenient 
and were removed, and the lower story con- 
sisted of a large hall, and a strong vault with a 
spacious room behind it containing a baking- 
oven, and a staircase leading to a wooden gal- 
lery, where the family used to dine. It seems 
they slept in the room below, though they had 
upstairs a handsome wainscoated apartment. 

Very rich and flourishing had the Lowen- 
burgers always been, and their walls were quite 
sufficient to turn back any robber barons, or 
even any invading Poles ; but things were dif- 
ferent when firearms were in use, and the bands 
of mercenary soldiers had succeeded the feudal 
army. They were infinitely more formidable 
during the battle or siege from their discipline, 
and yet more dreadful after it from their want 
of discipline. The poor Lowenburgers had 


THE HOUSEWIVES OP LOWENBURG. 167 

been greatly misused : their Lutheran pastors 
had been expelled ; all the superior citizens had 
either fled or been imprisoned ; two hundred 
and fifty families spent the summer in the 
woods, and of those who remained in the city* 
the men had for the most part outwardly con- 
formed to the Koman Catholic Church. Most 
of these were of course indifferent at heart, and 
they had found places in the town council 
which had formerly been filled by more 
respectable men. However, the wives had 
almost all remained staunch to their Lutheran 
confession ; they had followed their pastors 
weeping to the gates of the city, loading them 
with gifts, and they hastened at every oppor- 
tunity to hear their preachings, or obtain bap- 
tism for their children at the Lutheran churches 
in the neighborhood. 

The person who had the upper hand in the 
council was one Julius, who had been a Fran- 
ciscan friar, but was a desperate, unscrupulous 
fellow, not at all like a monk. Finding that it 
was considered as a reproach that the churches 
of Lowenburg were empty, he called the whole 
council together on the 9th of April, 1631, 
and informed them that the women must be 
brought to conformity, or else there were towers 
and prisons for them. The burgomaster was ill 
in bed, but the Judge, one Elias Seiler, spoke 
up at once. “ If we have been able to bring 
the men into the right path, why should not we 
be able to deal with these little creatures ?” 

Herr Mesnel, a cloth-factor, who had been a 
widower six weeks, thought it would be hard to 


168 JOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

manage, though he quite agreed to the expe- 
dient, saying, “ It would be truly good if man 
and wife had one Creed and one Paternoster ; 
as concerns the Ten Commandments it is not so 
pressing.” (A sentiment that he could hardly 
have wished to see put ifi practice.) 

Another councillor, called Schwob Franze, 
who had lost his wife a few days before, seems 
to have had an eye to the future, for he said it 
would be a pity to frighten away the many 
beautiful maidens and widows there were 
among the Lutheran women ; but on the whole 
the men without wives were much bolder and 
more sanguine of success than the married cues. 
And no one would undertake to deal with his 
own wife privately, so it ended by a message 
being sent to the more distinguished ladies to 
attend the council. 

But presently up came tidings that not merely 
these few dames, w r hom they might have hoped 
to overawe, were on their way, but that the 
Judge’s wife and the Burgomaster’s were the 
first pair in a procession of full 500 housewives, 
who were walking sedately up the stairs to the 
council hall below the chamber where the 
dignitaries were assembled. This was not by 
any means what had been expected, and the 
message was sent down that only the chief 
ladies should come up. “ No,” replied the 
Judge’s wife, “ we will not allow ourselves to be 
separated.” And to this they were firm ; they 
said as one fared, all should fare ; and the 
town clerk, going up and down with smooth 
words, received no better answer than this from 


THE HOUSEWIVES OF LOWENBURG. 169 

the Judge’s wife, who it must be confessed, was 
less ladylike in language than resolute in faith. 

“ Nay, nay, dear friend, do you think we are 
so simple as not to perceive the trick by which 
you would force us poor women against our 
conscience to change our faith ? My husband 
and the priest have not been consorting together 
all these days for nothing ; they have been 
joined together almost day and night ; assuredly 
they have either boiled or baked a devil, which 
they may eat up themselves. I shall not enter 
there ! Where I remain, my train and follow- 
ing will remain also ! Women, is this your 
will ? ” 

“ Yea, yea, let it be so,” they said ; “ we will 
all hold together as one man.” 

His honor the town clerk was much 
affrighted, and went hastily back, reporting 
that the council was in no small danger, 
since each housewife had her bunch of keys 
at her side ! These keys were the badge of a 
wife’s dignity and authority, and moreover nhey 
were such ponderous articles that they some- 
times served as weapons. A Scottish virago has 
been known to dash out the brains of a 
wounded enemy with her keys ; and the intelli- 
gence that the good dames had come so well 
furnished, filled the council with panic. Dr. 
Melchior Hubner, who had been a miller’s 
man, wished for a hundred musketeers to mow 
them down ; but the town clerk proposed that 
all the Council should creep quietly down the 
back stairs, lock the doors on the refractory 
womankind, and make their escape. 


170 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS.. 


This was effected as silently and quickly as 
possible, for the whole council “ could confess 
to a state of frightful terror.” Presently the 
women peeped out, and saw the stairs bestrewn 
with hats, gloves, and handkerchiefs ; and per- 
ceiving how they had put all the wisdom and 
authority of the town to the rout, there was 
great merriment among them, though, finding 
themselves locked up, the more tender-hearted 
began to pity their husbands and children. 
As for themselves, their maids and children 
came round the town hall, to hand in pro- 
visions to them, and all the men who were not 
of the council were seeking the magistrates to 
know what their wives had done to be thus 
locked up. 

The Judge sent to assemble the rest of the 
council at his house; and though only four 
came, the doorkeeper ran to the town hall, and 
called out to his wife that the council had 
reassembled, and they would soon be let out. 
To which, however, that very shrewd dame, the 
Judge’s wife, answered with great composure, 
“ Yea, we willingly have patience, as we are 
quite comfortable here ; but tell them they 
ought to inform us why we are summoned and 
confined without trial.” 

She well knew how much better off she was 
than her husband without her. He paced 
about in great perturbation, and at last called 
for something to eat. The maid served up a 
dish of crab, some white bread, and butter ; but, 
in his fury, he threw all the food about the 
room and out of the window, away from the 


THE HOUSEWIVES OP LOWENBURG. 171 

poor children, who had had nothing to eat all 
day, and at last he threw all the dishes and 
saucepans out of the window. At last the town 
clerk and two others were sent to do their best 
to persuade the women that they had misun- 
derstood, — they were in no danger, and were 
only invited to the preachings of Holy Week 
and, as Master Daniel, the joiner, added, “ It 
was only a friendly conference. It is not cus- 
tomary with my masters and the very wise 
council to hang a man before they have caught 
him. ,, 

This opprobrious illustration raised a con- 
siderable clamor of abuse from the ruder 
women ; but the Judge’s and burgomaster’s 
ladies silenced them, and repeated their 
resolution never to give up their faith against 
their conscience. Seeing that no impres- 
sion was made on them, and that nobody 
knew what to do without them at home, the 
magistracy decided that they should be released, 
and they went quietly home; but the Judge 
Seiler, either because lie had been foremost in 
the business, 'or else perhaps because of the 
devastation he had made at home among the 
pots and pans, durst not meet his wife, but 
sneaked out of the town, and left her with the 
house to herself. 

The priest now tried getting the three chief 
ladies alone together, and most politely begged 
them to conform ; but, instead of arguing, they 
simply answered, “ No ; we were otherwise in- 
fracted by our parents and former preachers.” 

Then he begged them at least to tell the other 


172 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

women that they had asked for fourteen days 
for consideration. 

“ No, dear sir,” they replied ; “ we were not 
taught by our parents to tell falsehoods, and 
we will not learn it from you.” 

Meanwhile Schwob Franze rushed to the 
burgomaster’s bedside, and begged him, for 
Heaven’s sake, to prevent the priest from 
meddling with the women ; for the whole bevy, 
hearing that their three leaders were called 
before the priest, were collecting in the market- 
place, keys, bundles, and all ; and the panic of 
the worthy magistrates was renewed. The 
burgomaster sent for the priest, and told him 
plainly, that if any harm befell him from the 
women, the fault would be his own ; and there- 
upon he gave way, the ladies went quietly 
home, and their stout champions laid aside their 
bundles and keys, not out of reach, however, in 
case of another summons. 

However, the priest was obliged, next year, 
to leave Lowenburg in disgrace, for he was a 
man of notoriously bad character ; and Dr. 
Melchior became a soldier, and was hanged at 
Prague. 

After all, such a confession as this is a mere 
trifle, not only compared with martyrdoms of 
old, but with the constancy with which, after 
the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, the 
Huguenots endured persecution, — as, for in- 
stance, the large number of women who were 
imprisoned for thirty-eight years at Aigues 
Mortes ; or, again, with the steady resolution of 
the persecuted nuns of Port Royal against 


FATHERS AND SONS. 


173 

signing the condemnation of the works of Jan- 
sen. Yet, in its own way, the feminine resist- 
ance of these good citizens’ wives, without 
being equally high-toned, is worthy of record, 
and far too full of character to be passed over.” 

FATHERS AND SONS. 
b. c. 219— a. d. 1642—1798. 

One of the noblest characters in old Roman 
history is the first Scipio Africanus, and his first 
appearance is in a most pleasing light, at the 
battle of the river Ticinus, b. c. 219, when the 
Carthaginians, under Hannibal, had just com- 
pleted their wonderful march across the Alps, 
and surprised the Romans in Italy itself. 

Young Scipio was then only seventeen years 
of age, and had gone to his first battle under 
the eagles of his father, the Consul, Publius 
Cornelius Scipio. It was an unfortunate battle; 
the Romans, when exhausted by long resistance 
to the Spanish horse in Hannibal’s army, were 
taken in flank by the Numidian cavalry, and 
entirely broken. The Consul rode in front of 
the few equites he could keep together, striving 
by voice and example to rally his forces, until he 
was pierced by one of the long Numidian jave- 
lins, and fell senseless from his horse. The 
Romans, thinking him dead, entirely gave way, 
but his young son would not leave him, and, 
lifting him on his horse, succeeded in bringing 


174 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

him safe into the camp, where he recovered, and 
his after days retrieved the honor of the Roman 
arms. 

The story of a brave and devoted son comes 
to us to light up the sadness of the civil wars 
between Cavaliers and Roundheads in the mid- 
dle of the seventeenth century. It was soon 
after King Charles had raised his standard at 
Nottingham, and set forth on his march for 
London, that it became evident that the Parlia- 
mentary army, under the Earl of Essex, in- 
tended to intercept his march. The king him- 
self was with the army, with his two boys, 
Charles and James; but the general-in-chief 
was Robert Bertie, Earl of Lindsay, a brave and 
experienced old soldier, sixty years of age, god- 
son to Queen Elizabeth, and to her two favorite 
Earls, whose Christian name he bore. He had 
been in her Essex’s expedition to Cambridge, 
and had afterward served in the Low Countries, 
under Prince Maurice of Nassau ; for the long 
Continental wars had throughout King James’ 
peaceful reign been treated as schools of arms, 
and a few campaigns were considered as a grace- 
ful finish to a gentleman’s education. As soon 
as Lord Lindsay had begun to fear that the 
disputes between the king and Parliament must 
end in war, he had begun to exercise and train 
his tenantry in Lincolnshire and Northampton- 
shire, of whom he had formed a regiment of 
infantry. With him was his son, Montagu 
Bertie, Lord Willoughby, a noble-looking man 
of thirty-two, of whom it was said, that he was 
“ as excellent in reality as others in pretence,” 


FATHERS AND SONS. 


175 


and that, thinking “ that the cross was an orna- 
ment to the crown, and much more to the coro- 
net, he satisfied not himself with the mere 
exercise of virtue, but sublimated it, and made 
it grace.” He had likewise seen some service 
against the Spaniards in the Netherlands, and 
after his return had been made a captain in the 
Lifeguards, and a Gentleman of the Bed- 
chamber. Vandyke has left portraits of the 
father and the son ; the one a bald-headed, 
alert, precise-looking old warrior, with the 
cuirass and gauntlets of elder warfare; the 
other, the very model of a cavalier, tall, easy 
and graceful, with a gentle, reflecting face, and 
wearing the long lovelocks and deep point lace 
collar and cuffs characteristic of Queen Henri- 
etta’s Court. Lindsay was called general-in- 
chief, but the king had imprudently exempted 
the cavalry from his command, its general, 
Prince Rupert of the Rhine, taking orders only 
from himself. Rupert was only three-and- 
twenty, and his education in the wild school of 
the Thirty Years’ War had not taught him to 
lay aside his arrogance and opinionativeness ; 
indeed, he had shown great petulance at 
receiving orders from the king through Lord 
Falkland. 

At eight o’clock, on the morning of the 23d 
of October, King Charles was riding along the 
ridge of Edgehill, and looking down into the 
Vale of Red Horse, a fair meadow land, here 
and there broken by hedges and copses. His 
troops were mustering around him, and in the 
valley he could see with his telescope the 


176 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

various Parliamentary regiments, as they 
poured out of the town of Kineton, and took 
up their positions in three lines. “ I never saw 
the rebels in a body before,” he said, as he 
gazed sadly at the subjects arrayed against 
him. “I shall give them battle. God, and 
the prayers of good men to Him, assist the jus- 
tice of my cause.” The whole of his forces, 
about 11,000 in number, were not assembled 
till two o’clock in the afternoon, for the gentle- 
men who had become officers found it no easy 
matter to call their farmers and retainers 
together, and marshal them into any sort of 
order. But while one troop after another came 
trampling, clanking and shouting in, trying to 
find and take their proper place, there were hot 
words round the royal standard. 

Lord Lindsay, who was an old comrade of 
the Earl of Essex, the commander of the rebel 
forces, knew that he would follow the tactics 
they had both together studied in Holland, lit- 
tle thinking that one day they should be 
arrayed one against the other in their own 
native England. He had a high opinion of 
Essex’s generalship, and insisted that the situa- 
tion of the Royal army required the utmost 
caution. Rupert, on the other hand, had seen 
the swift fiery charges of the fierce troopers of 
the Thirty Years’ War, and was backed up by 
Patrick, Lord Ruthven, one of the many Scots 
who had won honor under the great Swedish 
king, Gustavus Adolphus. A sudden charge 
of the Royal horse would, Rupert argued, 
sweep the Roundheads from the field, and the 


FATHERS AND SONS. 177 

foot would have nothing to do but to follow up 
the victory. The great portrait at Windsor 
shows us exactly how the king must have 
stood, with his charger by his side, and his 
grave, melancholy face, sad enough at having 
to fight at all with his subjects, and never hav- 
ing seen a battle, entirely bewildered between 
the ardent words of his spirited nephew and 
the grave replies of the well-seasoned old Earl. 
At last, as time went on, and some decision was 
necessary, the perplexed king, willing at least 
not to irritate Rupert, desired that Ruthven 
should array the troops in the Swedish fashion. 

It was a greater affront to the general-in- 
chief than the king was likely to understand, 
but it could not shake the old soldier’s loyalty. 
He gravely resigned the empty title of general, 
which only made confusion worse confounded, 
and rode away to act as colonel of his own 
Lincoln regiment, pitying his master’s perplex- 
ity, and resolved that no private pique should 
hinder him from doing his duty. His regiment 
was of foot soldiers, and was just opposite to 
the standard of the Earl of Essex. 

The church bell was ringing for afternoon 
service when the royal forces marched down the 
hill. The last hurried prayer before the charge 
was stout old Sir Jacob Astley’s : “ O Lord, 
Thou knowest how busy I must be this day ; if 
I forget Thee, do not Thou forget me ; ” then 
rising, he said, “ March on, boys.” And, amid 
prayer and exhortation, the other side awaited 
the shock, as men whom a strong and deeply 
embittered sense of wrong had roused to take 


178 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

up arms. Prince Rupert’s charge was, how- 
ever, fully successful. No one even waited to 
cross swords with his troopers, but all the 
Roundhead horse galloped headlong off the 
field, hotly pursued by the Royalists. But the 
main body of the army stood firm, and for 
some time the battle was nearly equal, until a 
large troop of the enemy’s cavalry who had 
been kept in reserve, wheeled round and fell 
upon the Royal forces just when their scanty 
supply of ammunition was exhausted. 

Step by step, however, they retreated brave- 
ly, and Rupert, who had returned from his 
charge, sought in vain to collect his scattered 
troopers, so as to fall again on the rebels ; but 
some were plundering, some chasing the enemy, 
and none could be got together. Lord Lindsay 
was shot through the thigh bone, and fell. He 
was instantly surrounded by the rebels on 
horseback ; but his son, Lord Willoughby, see- 
ing his danger, flung himself alone among the 
enemy, and forcing his way forward, raised his 
father in his arms, thinking of nothing else, 
and unheeding his own peril. The throng of 
enemy around called to him to surrender, and, 
hastily giving up his sword, he carried the 
Earl into the nearest shed and laid him on a 
heap of straw, vainly striving to stanch the 
blood. It was a bitterly cold night, and the 
frosty wind came howling through the dark- 
ness. Far above, on the ridge of the hill, the 
fires of the king’s army shone with red light, 
and some way off on the other side twinkled 
those of the Parliamentary forces. Glimmering 


FATHERS AND SONS. 


179 


lanterns or torches moved about the battle- 
field, those of the savage plunderers who crept 
about to despoil the dead. Whether the battle 
was won or lost, the father and son knew not, 
aud the guard who watched them knew as 
little. Lord Lindsay himself murmured, “ If it 
please God I should survive, I never will fight 
in the same field with boys again ! ” — no doubt 
deeming that young Rupert had wrought all 
the mischief. His thoughts were all on the 
cause, his son’s all on him ; and piteous was 
that night, as the blood continued to flow, and 
nothing availed to check it, nor was any aid 
near to restore the old man’s ebbing strength. 

Toward midnight the Earl’s old comrade, 
Essex, had time to understand his condition, 
and sent some officers to inquire for him, and 
promise speedy surgical attendance. Lindsay 
was still full of spirit, and spoke to them so 
strongly of their broken faith, and of the sin 
of disloyalty and rebellion, that they slunk 
away one by one out of the hut, and dissuaded 
Essex from coming himself to see his old friend, 
as he had intended. The surgeon, however, 
arrived, but too late, Lindsay was already so 
much exhausted by cold and loss of blood, 
that he died early in the morning of the 24th, 
all his son’s gallant devotion having failed to 
save him. 

The sorrowing son received an affectionate 
note the next day from the king, full of regret 
for his father and esteem for himself. Charles 
made every effort to obtain his exchange, but 
oould not succeed for a whole year. He was 


180 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

afterwards one of the four noblemen who, seven 
years later followed the king’s white, silent, 
snowy funeral in the dismantled St. George’s 
Chapel ; and from first to last he was one of the 
bravest, purest, and most devoted of those who 
did honor to the Cavalier cause. 

We have still another brave son to describe, 
and for him we must turn away from these sad 
pages of history, when England was a house 
divided against itself, to one of the hours of her 
brightest glory, when the cause she fought in 
was the cause of all the oppressed, and nearly 
alone she upheld the rights of oppressed coun- 
tries against the invader. And thus it is that 
the battle of the Nile is one of the exploits to 
which she looks back with the greatest exulta- 
tion, when she thinks of the triumph of the 
British flag. 

Let us think of all that was at stake. N apo- 
leon Bonaparte was climbing to power in 
France, by directing her successful arms against 
the world. He had beaten Germany and con- 
quered Italy ; he had threatened England, and 
his dream was of the conquest of the East. 
Like another Alexander he hoped to subdue 
Asia, and overthrow the hated British power 
by depriving it of India. Hitherto, his dreams 
had become earnest by the force of his marvel- 
ous genius, and by the ardor which he breathed 
into the whole French nation ; and when he set 
sail from Toulon, with 40,000 tried and victori- 
ous soldiers and a magnificent fleet, all were 
filled with vague and unbounded expectations 
of almost fabulous glories. He swept away as 


FATHERS AND SONS. 181 

it were the degenerate knights of St. John 
from their rock of Malta, and sailed for Alexan- 
dria in Egypt, in the latter end of June, 1798. 

His intentions had not become known, and 
the English Mediterranean fleet was watching 
the course of this great armament. Sir Horatio 
Nelson was in pursuit, with the English vessels, 
and wrote to the First Lord of the Admiralty : 
“ Be they bound to the Antipodes, your lordship 
may rely that I will not lose a moment in 
bringing them to action.” 

Nelson had, however, not ships enough to be 
detached to reconnoitre, and he actually over- 
passed the French, whom he guessed to be on 
the way to Egypt. He arrived at the port of 
Alexandria on the 28th of June, and saw its 
blue waters and flat coast lying still in their 
sunny torpor, as if no enemy were on the seas. 
Back he went to Syracuse, but could learn no 
more there ; he obtained provisions with some 
difficulty, and then, in great anxiety, sailed for 
Greece ; where at last, on the 28th of July, he 
learnt that the French fleet had been seen from 
Candia, steering to the southeast, and about 
four weeks since. In fact, it had actually 
passed by him in a thick haze, which concealed 
each fleet from the other, and had arrived at 
Alexandria on the 1st of July, three days after 
he had left it. 

Every sail was set for the south, and at four 
o’clock in the afternoon of the first of August a 
very different sight was seen in Aboukir Bay, 
so solitary a month ago. It was crowded with 
shipping. Great castle-like men-of-war rose 


182 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

with all their proud calm dignity out of the 
water, their dark port-holes opening in the white 
bands on their sides, and the tricolored flag 
floating as their ensign. There were thirteen 
ships of the line and four frigates, and, of these, 
three were 80-gun ships, and one, towering high 
ahove the rest, with her three decks, was 
L’ Orient, of 120 guns. Look well at her, for 
there stands the hero for whose sake we have 
chosen this and no other of Nelson’s glorious 
fights to place among the setting of our Golden 
Deeds. There he is, a little cadet de vaisseau, 
as the French call a midshipman, only ten years 
old, with a heart swelling between awe and 
exultation at the prospect of his first battle ; 
but, fearless and glad, for is he not the son of 
the brave Casabianca, the flag-captain? And 
is not this Admiral Brueys’ own ship, looking 
down in scorn on the fourteen little English 
ships, not one carrying more than 74 guns, and 
one only 50 ? 

Why Napoleon had kept the fleet there was 
never known. In his usual mean way of dis- 
avowing whatever turned out ill, he laid the 
blame upon Admiral Brueys ; but, though dead 
men could not tell tales, his papers made it 
plain that the ships had remained in obedience 
to commands, though they had not been able to 
enter the harbor of Alexandria. Large rewards 
had been offered to any pilot who would take 
them in, but none could be found who would 
venture to steer into that port a vessel drawing 
more than twenty feet of water. They had, 
therefore, remained at anchor outside, in Abou- 


FATHERS AN D SONS. 


183 

kir Bay, drawn up in a curve along the deepest 
of the water, with no room to pass them at 
either end, so that the commissary of the fleet 
reported that they could bid defiance to a force 
more than double their number. The admiral 
believed that Nelson had not ventured to attack 
him when they had passed by one another a 
month before, and when the English fleet was 
signaled, he still supposed that it was too late 
in the day for an attack to be made. 

Nelson had, however, no sooner learnt that 
the French were in sight than he signaled from 
his ship, the Vanguard, that preparations for 
battle should be made, and in the meantime 
summoned up his captains to receive his orders 
during a hurried meal. He explained that, 
where there was room for a large French ship 
to swing, there was room for a small English 
one to anchor, and, therefore, he designed to 
bring his ships up to the- outer part of the 
French line, and station them close below their 
adversary ; a plan that he said Lord Hood had 
once designed, though he had not carried it out. 

Captain Berry was delighted, and exclaimed, 
“ If we succeed, what will the world say ? ” 

“ There is no if in the case,” returned Nel- 
son, “ that we shall succeed is certain. Who 
may live to tell the tale is a very different 
question.” 

And when they rose and parted, he said, 
“ Before this time to-morrow I shall have 
gained a peerage or Westminster Abbey.” 

In the fleet went, through a fierce storm of 
shot and shell from a French battery on an 


184 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

island in advance. Nelson’s own ship, the Van- 
guard , was the first to anchor within half-pistol- 
shot of the third French ship, the Spartiate. 
The Vanguard had six colors flying, in case 
any should be shot away ; and such was the 
fire that was directed on her, that in a few 
minutes every man at the six guns in her fore- 
part was killed or wounded, and this happened 
three times. Nelson himself received a wound 
in the head, which was thought at first to be 
mortal, but which proved but slight. He would 
not allow the surgeon to leave the sailors to 
attend to him till it came to his turn. 

Meantime his ships were doing their work 
gloriously. The Bellerophon was, indeed, over- 
powered by L’ Orient, 200 of her crew killed, 
and all her masts and cables shot away, so that 
she drifted away as night came on ; but the 
Swiftsure came up in her place, and the Alexan- 
der and Leander both poured in their shot. 
Admiral Brueys received three wounds, but 
would not quit his post, and at length a fourth 
shot almost cut him in two. He desired not to 
be carried below, but that he might die on deck. 

About nine o’clock the ship took fire and 
blazed up with fearful brightness, lighting up 
the whole bay, and showing five French ships 
with their colors hauled down, the others still 
fighting on. Nelson himself rose and came on 
deck when this fearful glow came shining from 
sea and sky into his cabin, and gave orders 
that the English boats should immediately be 
L’ Orient, to save as many lives as 


put oil j 
possible. 


FATHERS AND SONS. 


185 

The English sailors rowed up to the burning 
ship which they had lately been attacking. The 
French officers listened to the offer of safety, 
and called to the little favorite of the ship, the 
captain’s son, to come with them. “No,” said 
the boy, “ he was where his father had stationed 
him and bidden him not to move save at his 
call.” They told him his father’s voice would 
never call him again, for he lay senseless and 
mortally wounded on the deck, and that the 
ship must presently blow up. “ No,” said the 
brave child, “ he must obey his father.” The 
moment allowed no delay, — the boat put off. 
The flames showed all that passed in a quiver- 
ing glare more intense than daylight, and the 
little fellow was then seen on the deck, leaning 
over the prostrate figure, and presently tying it 
to one of the spars of the shivered masts. 

Just then a thundering explosion shook down 
to the very hold every ship in the harbor, and 
burning fragments of 1? Orient came falling far 
and wide, plashing heavily into the water, in 
the dead awful stillness that followed the fearful 
sound. English boats were plying busily about, 
picking up those who had leapt overboard in 
time. Some were dragged in through the lower 
port-holes of the English ships, and about 
seventy were saved altogether. For one 
moment a boat’s crew had a sight of a helpless 
figure bound to a spar, and guided by a little, 
childish swimmer, who must have gone over- 
board with his precious freight just before the 
explosion. They rowed after the brave little 
fellow, earnestly desiring to save him, but in 


186 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

darkness, in smoke, in lurid, uncertain light, 
amid hosts of drowning wretches, they lost 
sight of him again. 

“ The boy, O where was he ! 

Ask of the wind that far around 
With fragments strewed the sea ; 

With mast and helm, and pennant fair 
That well had borne their part : 

But the noblest thing that perished there 
Was that young faithful heart ! ” 

By sunrise the victory was complete. Nay, 
as Nelson said, “ It was not a victory, but a 
conquest.” Only four French ships escaped, 
and Napoleon and his army were cut off from 
home. These are glories of England’s navy, 
gained by men with hearts as true and obedient 
as that of the brave child they had tried in 
vain to save. Yet still, while giving the full 
meed of thankful, sympathetic honor to the 
noble sailors, we cannot but feel that the 
Golden Deed of Aboukir Bay fell to — 

“ That young faithful heart.” 


HEROES OP THE PLAGUE. 

1576 — 1665 — 1721 . 

When our Litany entreats that we may be 
delivered from “plague, pestilence and famine,” 


HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 187 

the first of these words bears a special meaning, 
which came home with strong and painful force 
to European minds at the time the Prayer- 
Book was translated, and for the whole follow- 
ing century. 

It refers to the deadly sickness emphatically 
called “the plague,” a typhoid fever exceed- 
ingly violent and rapid, and accompanied with 
a frightful swelling either under the arm or on 
the corresponding part of the thigh. The East 
is the usual haunt of this fatal complaint, which 
some supposed to be bred by the marshy, un- 
wholesome state of Egypt after the subsidence 
of the waters of the Nile, and which generally 
prevails in Egypt and Syria until its course is 
checked either by the cold of winter or the heat 
in summer. At times this disease has become 
unusually malignant and infectious, and then 
has come beyond its usual boundaries, and 
made its way over all the West. These dread- 
ful visitations were rendered more frequent by 
total disregard of all precautions, and ignorance 
of laws for preserving health. People crowded 
together in towns without means of obtaining 
sufficient air or cleanliness, and thus were sure 
to be unhealthy ; and whenever war or famine 
had occasioned more than usual poverty, some 
frightful epidemic was sure to follow in its train, 
and sweep away the poor creatures whose 
frames were already weakened by previous 
privation. And often this “sore judgment” 
was that emphatically called the plague ; espe- 
cially during the sixteenth and seventeenth 
centuries, a time when war had become far 


188 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

more cruel and mischievous in the hands of 
hired regiments than ever it had been with a 
feudal army, and when at the same time increas- 
ing trade was filling the cities with more closely 
packed inhabitants, within fortifications that 
would not allow the city to expand in propor- 
Hon to its needs. It has been only the estab- 
lishment of the system of quarantine wdiich has 
succeeded in cutting off the course of infection 
by which the plague was wont to set out on its 
frightful travels from land to land, from city to 
city. 

The desolation of a plague-stricken city was 
a sort of horrible dream. Every infected house 
W'as marked with a red cross, and carefully 
closed against all persons, except those who 
were charged to drive carts through the streets 
to collect the corpses, ringing a bell as they 
went. These men were generally wretched 
beings, the lowest and most reckless of the 
people, who undertook their frightful task for 
the sake of the plunder of the desolate houses, 
and wound themselves up by intoxicating drinks 
to endure the horrors. The bodies were thrown 
into large trenches, without prayer or funeral 
rites, and these were hastily closed up. Whole 
families died together, untended save by one 
another, with no aid from without, and the last 
chances of life would be lost for want of a 
friendly hand to give drink and food ; and, in 
the Roman Catholic cities, the perishing with- 
out a priest to adminster the last rites of the 
Church was viewed as more dreadful than death 
itself. 


HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 189 

Such visitations as these did, indeed, prove 
whether the pastors of the afflicted flock were 
shepherds or hirelings. So felt, in 1576, 
Cardinal Carlo Borromeo, Archbishop of 
Milan, the worthiest of all the successors of St, 
Ambrose, when he learnt at Lodi that the 
plague had made its appearance in his city, 
where, remarkably enough, there had lately 
been such licentious revelry that he had 
solemnly warned the people that, unless they 
repented, they would certainly bring on them- 
selves the wrath of Heaven. His council of 
clergy advised him to remain in some healthy 
part of his diocese till the sickness should have 
spent itself, but he replied that a bishop, whose 
duty it is to give his life for his sheep, could 
not rightly abandon them in time of peril- 
They owned that to stand by them was tin 
higher course. “Well,” he said, “is it not a 
bishop’s duty to choose the higher course ? ” 

So back into the town of deadly sicknesf 
he went, leading the people to repent, eni 
watching over them in their sufferings, visiting 
the hospitals; and, by his own example, 
encouraging his clergy in carrying spiritual 
consolation to the dying. All the time the 
plague lasted, which was four months, his 
exertions were fearless and unwearied, and 
what was remarkable was, that of his whole 
household only two died, and they were persons 
who had not been called to go about among 
the sick. Indeed, some of the rich who had 
repaired to a villa, where they spent their time 
in feasting and amusement in the luxurious 


190 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Italian fashion, were there followed by the 
pestilence, and all perished; their dainty fare 
and the excess in which they indulged having 
no doubt been as bad a preparation as the 
poverty of the starving people in the city. 

The strict and regular life of the cardinal 
and his clergy, and their home in the spacious 
palace, were, no doubt, under Providence, a 
preservative ; but, in the opinions of the time, 
there was little short of a miracle in the safety 
of one who daily preached in the cathedral, — 
bent over the beds of the sick, giving them 
food and medicine, hearing their confessions, 
and administrating the last rites of the Church, — 
and then braving the contagion after death, 
rather than let the corpses go forth unblest to 
their common grave. Nay, so far was he from 
seeking to save his own life, that, kneeling 
before the altar in the cathedral, he solemnly 
offered himself, like Moses, as a sacrifice for his 
people. But, like Moses, the sacrifice was 
^/assed by, — “it cost more to redeem their 
souls” — and Borromeo remained untouched, 
as did the twenty-eight priests who voluntarily 
offered themselves to join in his labors. 

No wonder that the chief memories that 
haunt the glorious white marble cathedral of 
Milan are those of St. Ambrose, who taught 
mercy to an emperor, and of St. Carlo Bor- 
romeo, who practiced mercy on a people. 

It was a hundred years later that the greatest 
and last visitation of the plague took place in 
London. Doubtless, the scourge called forth, — 
as in Christian lands such judgments always 


HEROES OP THE PLAGUE. 191 

do, — many an act of true and blessed self- 
devotion ; but these are not recorded, save 
where they have their reward : and the tale 
now to be told is of one of the small villages to 
which the infection spread, — namely, Eyam, in 
Derbyshire. 

This is a lovely place between Buxton and 
Chatsworth, perched high on a hillside, and 
shut in by another higher mountain, — extremely 
beautiful, but exactly one of those that, fo£ 
want of free air, always become the especial 
prey of infection. At that time lead works 
were in operation in the mountains, and the 
village was thickly inhabited. Great was the 
dismay of the villagers when the family of a 
tailor, who had received some patterns of cloth 
from London, showed symptoms of the plague 
in its most virulent form, sickening and dying 
in one day. 

The rector of the parish, the Rev. William 
Mompesson, was still a young man, and had 
been married only a few years. His wife, a 
beautiful young woman, only twenty-seven 
years old, was exceedingly terrified at the 
tidings from the village, and wept bitterly as 
she implored her husband to take her, and her 
little George and Elizabeth, who were three 
and four years old, away to some place of 
safety. But Mr. Mompesson gravely showed 
her that it was his duty not to forsake his flock 
in their hour of need, and began at once to 
make arrangements for sending her and the 
children away. She saw he was right in 
remaining, and ceased to urge him to forsake 


192 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

his charge ; but she insisted that, if he ought 
not to desert his flock, his wife ought not to 
leave him ; and she wept and entreated so 
earnestly, that he at length consented that she 
should be with him, and that only the two little 
ones should be removed while yet there was 
time. 

Their father and mother parted with the little 
ones as treasures that they might never see 
again. At the same time Mr. Mompesson 
wrote to London for the most approved medi- 
cines and prescriptions ; and he likewise sent a 
letter to the Earl of Devonshire, at Chatsworth, 
to engage that his parishioners should exclude 
themselves from the whole neighborhood, and 
thus confine the contagion within their own 
boundaries, provided the Earl would undertake 
that food, medicines, and other necessaries, 
should be placed at certain appointed spots, at 
regular times, upon the hills around, where the 
Eyamites might come, leave payment for them, 
and take them up, without holding any commu- 
nication with the bringers, except by letters, 
which could be placed on a stone, then fumi- 
gated, or passed through vinegar, before they 
were touched with the hand. To this the Earl 
consented, and for seven whole months the 
engagement was kept. 

Mr. Mompesson represented to his people 
that, with the plague once among them, it 
would be so unlikely that they should not 
carry infection about with them, that it would 
be selfish cruelty to other places to try to escape 
amongst them, and thus spread the danger. 


HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. Yd3 

So rocky and wild was the ground around 
them, that, had they striven to escape, a regi- 
ment of soldiers could not have prevented them. 
But of their own free will they attended to 
their rector’s remonstrance, and it was not 
known that one parishioner of Eyam passed 
the boundary all that time, nor was there a 
single case of plague in any of the villages 
around. 

The assembling of large congregations in 
churches had been thought to increase th© 
infection in London, and Mr. Mompesson, 
therefore, thought it best to hold his services out- 
of-doors. In the middle of the village is a dell, 
suddenly making a cleft in the mountain-side, 
only five yards wide at the bottom, which is 
the pebbly bed of a wintry torrent, but is dry 
in the summer. On the side toward the village, 
the slope upward was of soft green turf scat- 
tered with hazel, rowan, and alder bushes, and 
full of singing birds. > On the other side, the 
ascent was nearly perpendicular, and composed 
of sharp rocks, partly adorned with bushes and 
ivy, and here and there rising up in fantastic 
peaks and archways, through which the sky 
could be seen from below. One of these rocks 
was hollow, and could be entered from above, — 
a natural gallery leading to an archway open- 
ing over the precipice ; and this Mr. Mompesson 
chose for his reading-desk and pulpit. The dell 
was so narrow, that his voice could clearly be 
heard across it, and his congregation arranged 
themselves upon the green slope opp r *ite, seated 
or kneeling upon the grass. 


194 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

On Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays arose 
the earnest voice of prayer from that rocky 
glen, the people’s response meeting the pastor’s 
voice; and twice on Sundays he preached to 
them the words of life and hope. It was a dry 
hot summer ; fain would they have seen thunder 
and rain to drive away their enemy ; and sel- 
dom did weather break in on the regularity of 
these services. But there was another service 
that the rector had daily to perform ; not in his 
churchyard — that would have perpetuated the 
infection — but on a heathy hill above the vil- 
lage. There he daily read of “ the Resurrec- 
tion and the Life,” and week by week the 
company on the grassy slope grew fewer and 
scantier. His congregation were passing from 
the dell to the heathy mound. 

Day and night the rector and his wife were 
among the sick, nursing, feeding, and tending 
them with all that care and skill could do; 
but in spite of all their endeavors, only a fifth 
part of the inhabitants lived to spend the last 
Sunday in Cucklet Church, as the dell is still 
called. Mrs. Mompesson had persuaded her 
husband to have a wound made in his leg, 
fancying that this would lessen the danger of 
infection, and he yielded in order to satisfy her. 
His health endured perfectly, but she began to 
waste under her constant exertions, and her 
husband feared that he saw symptoms of con- 
sumption ; but she was full of delight at some 
appearances in his wound that made her 
imagine that it had carried off the disease, and 
that his danger was over. 


HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 195 

A few days after, she sickened with symp- 
toms of the plague, and her frame was so 
weakened that she sank very quickly. She 
was often delirious; but when she was too 
much exhausted to endure the exertion of tak- 
ing cordials, her husband entreated her to try 
for their children’s sake, she lifted herself up 
and made the endeavor. She lay peacefully, 
saying, “ she was but looking for the good hour 
to come,” and calmly died, making the re- 
sponses to her husband’s prayers even to the 
last. Her he buried in the churchyard, and 
fenced the grave in afterward with iron rails. 
There are two beautiful letters from him written 
on her death — one to his little children, to be 
kept and read when they would be old enough 
to understand it ; the other to his patron, Sir 
George Saville, afterward Lord Halifax. “ My 
drooping spirits,” he says, “ are much refreshed 
with her joys, which I assure myself are un- 
utterable.” He wrote both these letters in the 
belief that he should soon follow her, speaking 
of himself to Sir George as “ his dying chap- 
lain,” commending to him his “ distressed 
orphans,” and begging that a “ humble pious 
man ” might be chosen to succeed him in his 
parsonage. “ Sir, I thank God that I am will- 
ing to shake hands in peace with all the world ; 
and I have comfortable assurances that He will 
accept me for the sake of His Son ; and I find 
God more good than ever I imagined, and wish 
that His goodness were not so much abused and 
contemned,” writes the widowed pastor, left 
alone among his dying flock. And he eon- 


196 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

eludes, “ and with tears I entreat that when 
you are praying for fatherless and motherless 
infants, you would then remember my two 
pretty babes.” 

These two letters were written on the last day 
of August and first of September, 1666 ; but on 
the twentieth of November, Mr. Mompesson 
was writing to his uncle, in the lull after the 
storm. “ The condition of this place hath been 
so dreadful, that I persuade myself it exceedeth 
all history and example. I may truly say our 
town has become a Golgotha, a place of skulls ; 
and had there not been a small remnant of us 
left, we had been as Sodom, and like unto Go- 
morrah. My ears never heard such doleful 
lamentations, my nose never smelt such noisome 
smells, and my eyes never beheld such ghastly 
spectacles. Here have been seventy-six fami- 
lies visited within my parish, out of which died 
two hundred and fifty-nine persons.” 

However, since the eleventh of October there 
had been no fresh cases, and he was now burn- 
ing all woolen clothes, lest the infection should 
linger in them. He himself had never been 
touched by the complaint, nor had his maid- 
servant ; his man had had it but slightly. Mr. 
Mompesson lived many more years, was offered 
the Deanery of Lincoln, but did not accept it, 
and died in 1708. Bo virulent was the con- 
tagion, that, ninety-one years after, in 1757, 
when five laboring men, who were digging up 
land near the plague-graves for a potato-garden, 
came upon what appeared to be some linen, 
though they buried it again directly, they all 


HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 197 

sickened with typhus fever, three of them died, 
and it was so infectious that no less than seventy 
persons in the parish were carried off. 

The last of these remarkable visitations of 
the plague, properly so called, was at Marseilles, 
in 1721. It was supposed to have been brought 
by a vessel which sailed from Seyde, in the Bay 
of Tunis, on the thirty-first of January, 1720, 
which had a clean bill of health when it an- 
chored off the Chateau d’lf, at Marseilles, on 
the twenty-fifth of May ; but six of the crew 
were found to have died on the voyage, and the 
persons who handled the freight also died, 
though, it was said, without any symptoms of 
the plague, and the first cases were supposed to 
be of the fevers caused by excessive poverty 
and crowding. The unmistakable Oriental 
plague, however, soon began to spread in the 
city among the poorer population, and in truth 
the wars and heavy expenses of Louis XIV. 
had made poverty in France more wretched 
than ever before, and the whole country was 
like one deadly sore, festering, and by-and-by 
to come to a fearful crisis. Precautions were 
taken, the infected families were removed to the 
infirmaries, and their houses walled up, but all 
this was done at night in order not to excite 
alarm. The mystery, however, made things 
more terrible to the imagination, and this was 
a period of the utmost selfishness. All the 
richer inhabitants who had the means of quit- 
ting the city, and who were the very people 
who could have been useful there, fled with one 
accord. Suddenly the lazaretto was left with- 


198 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

out superintendents, the hospitals without 
stewards; the judges, public officers, notaries, 
and most of the superior workmen in the most 
necessary trades were all gone. Only the pro- 
vost and four municipal officers remained, with 
1100 livres in their treasury, in the midst of an 
entirely disorganized city, and an enormous 
population without work, without restraint, 
without food, and a prey to the deadliest of 
diseases. 

The parliament which still survived in the 
ancient kingdom of Provence signalized itself 
by retreating to a distance, and on the thirty- 
first of May putting out a decree that nobody 
should pass a boundary line round Marseilles 
on pain of death ; but considering what people 
were trying to escape from, and the utter over- 
throw of all rule and order, this penalty was 
not likely to have much effect, and the plague 
was carried by the fugitives to Arles, Aix, 
Toulon, and sixty-three lesser towns and vil- 
lages. What a contrast to Mr. Mompesson’s 
moral influence ! 

Horrible crimes were committed. Malefac- 
tors were released from the prisons and convicts 
from the galleys, and employed for large pay- 
ment to collect the corpses and carry the sick 
to the infirmaries. Of course, they could only 
be wrought up to such work by intoxication 
and unlimited opportunities of plunder, and 
their rude treatment both of the dead and of 
the living sufferers added unspeakably to the 
general wretchedness. To be carried to the 
infirmary was certain death — no one lived in 


HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 199 

that heap of contagion ; and even this shelter 
was not always to be had, some of the streets 
were full of dying creatures who had been 
turned out of their houses and could crawl no 
farther. 

What was done to alleviate all these horrors? 
It was in the minority of Louis XV., and the 
Regent Duke of Orleans, easy, good-natured 
man that he was, sent 22,000 marks to the relief 
of the city, all in silver, for paper money was 
found to spread the infection more than anything 
else. He also sent a great quantity of corn, 
and likewise doctors for the sick, and troops to 
shut in the infected district. The Pope, 
Clement XI., sent spiritual blessings to the 
sufferers, and, moreover, three ship-loads of 
wheat. The Regent’s Prime Minister, the Abb6 
Dubois, the shame of his Church and country, 
fancied that to send these supplies cast a slight 
upon his administration, and desired his repre- 
sentative at Rome to prevent the sailing of the 
ships ; but his orders were not for very shame 
carried out, and the vessels set out. On their 
way they were seized by a Moorish corsair, who 
was more merciful than Dubois, for he no sooner 
learnt their destination than he let them go 
unplundered. 

And in the midst of the misery there were 
bright lights “ running to and fro among the 
stubble.” The provost and his five remaining 
officers, and a gentleman called Le Chevalier 
Rose, did their utmost in the bravest and most 
unselfish way to help the sufferers, distribute 
food, provide shelter, restrain the horrors per- 


200 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

petrated by the sick in their ravings, and pro- 
vide for the burial of the dead. And the 
clergy were all devoted to the task of mercy. 
There was only one convent, that of St. Victor, 
where the gates were closed against all comers, 
in the hope of shutting out infection. Every 
other monastic establishment freely devoted 
itself. It was a time when party spirit ran 
high. The Bishop, Henri Francis Xavier de 
Belzunce, a nephew of the Duke de Lauzun, 
was a strong and rigid Jesuit, and had joined 
so hotly in the persecution of the Jansenists 
that he had forbidden the brotherhood called 
Oratorian Fathers to hear confessions, because 
he suspected them of a leaning to Jansenist 
opinions ; but he and they both alike worked 
earnestly in the one cause of mercy. They 
were content to obey his prejudiced edict, since 
he was in lawful authority, and threw them- 
selves heartily into the lower and more dis- 
dained services to the sick, as imrses and tenders 
of the body alone, not of the soul, and in this 
work their whole community, superior and all, 
perished, almost without exception. Perhaps 
these men, thus laying aside hurt feeling and 
sense of injustice, were the greatest conquerors 
of all whose Golden Deeds we have described. 

Bishop Belzunce himself, however, stands as 
the prominent figure in the memory of those 
dreadful five months. He was a man of com- 
manding stature, towering above all around 
him; and his fervent sermons, aided by his 
example of severe and strict piety, and his 
great charities, had greatly impressed the 


HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 201 

people. He now went about among the plague- 
stricken, attending to their wants both spiritual 
and temporal, and sold or mortgaged all his> 
property to obtain relief for them, and he 
actually went himself in the tumbrils of corpses 
to give them the rites of Christian burial. His 
doings closely resembled those of Cardinal Bor- 
romeo, and like him he had recourse to constant 
preachings of repentance, processions, and as- 
semblies for litanies in the church. It is curi- 
ously characteristic that it was the English 
clergyman, who, equally pious, and sensible that 
only the Almighty could remove the scourge, 
yet deemed it right to take precautions against 
the effects of bringing a large number of per- 
sons into one building. How Belzunce’s clergy 
seconded him may be gathered from the num- 
bers who died of the disease. Besides the 
Oratorians, there died eighteen Jesuits, twenty- 
six of the order called Recollets, and forty-three 
Capuchins, all of whom had freely given their 
lives in the endeavor to alleviate the general 
suffering. In the four chief towns of Provence 
80,000 died, and about 8000 in the lesser places. 
The winter finally checked the destroyer, and 
then, sad to say, it appeared how little effect 
the warning had had on the survivors. Inherit- 
ances had fallen together into the hands of 
persons who found themselves rich beyond 
their expectations, and in the glee of having 
escaped the danger, forgot to be thankful, and 
spent their wealth in revelry. Never had the 
cities of Provence been so full of wild, ques- 
tionable mirth as during the ensuing winter. 


202 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

and it was remarked that the places which had 
suffered most severely were the most given up 
to thoughtless gayety, and even licentiousness. 

Good Bishop Belzunce did his best to protest 
against the wickedness around him, and refused 
to leave his flock at Marseilles, when, four years 
after, a far more distinguished see was offered 
to him. He died in 1755, in time to escape the 
sight of the retribution that was soon worked 
out on the folly and vice of the unhappy 
country. 


o 

THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI. 
1793. 

Mournful as are in general the annals of 
slavery, yet even this cloud is not without its 
silver lining ; and noble deeds of fidelity and 
self-devotion are on record even from those 
whom their masters have been accustomed to 
look on as so degraded as to be incapable of 
more than an animal species of loyalty. 

The French are not in general bad slave- 
masters. Excitement does indeed stir their 
Celtic blood into a state in which they will 
perpetrate horrible ferocities ; but in ordinary 
life their instinct of courtesy and amiability 
makes them perhaps the least obnoxious of all 
nations to those whom they believe their in- 
feriors, whether in the bondage of conquest or 
of slavery. 


THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI. 203 

No doubt, however, there was a fearful arrear 
of wrongs in the beautiful West Indian island 
of Hispaniola, or St. Domingo, as it was called 
when it was shared between France and Spain, 
with the boundary between them of a river, now 
known by the portentous name of Massacre. 

One of the most fertile of all the lovely isles 
whose aspect had enchanted their discoverer, 
St. Domingo, was a region of rapid wealth to the 
French Creoles, who lived at ease, and full of 
luxury and enjoyment, on their rich plantations 
of sugar, cotton, and coffee, and often men of 
high birth, further formed, in right of their 
white skins, a jealous aristocracy, holding their 
heads high above the dark population below 
them, alike of free mulattoes of mixed descent 
and of negro slaves. Little were they prepared 
for the decree of the French National Conven- 
tion, which at one sweep leveled all distinc- 
tions, — placing the black and brown of every 
tint on an equality with the whites. The con- 
sequence was that the tri-colored cockade was 
trampled on by the indignant Creoles, who re- 
fused obedience to the decree of the mother 
country, and proceeded to elect a General 
Assembly of their own ; while the aggrieved 
mulattoes collected on their side in armed bodies 
for the defence of their newly-granted privileges. 

In the midst a more terrible enemy arose. 
The slaves, with the notes of freedom ringing 
in their ears, rose in a body, and began to burn 
the plantations and to massacre the whites. 
Fugitives came rushing into Capetown, the 
capital, from all quarters ; and at each planta- 


204 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

tion reached by the insurgents, the slaves, even 
if previously contented, were gathered into the 
flood of savagery, and joined in the war of 
extermination. In less than two months, 2000 
white persons, of all ranks, sexes, and ages, had 
perished, 480 sugar plantations, and 900 coffee, 
indigo, and cotton settlements had been de- 
stroyed. With the horrors and bloodshed of those 
days, however, we are not concerned, nor need 
we trace the frightful and protracted war that 
finally established negro supremacy over the 
island that now bears the name of Haiti. It is 
with the bright spots in the dark picture that 
we are to deal. 

Count de Lopinot, an old officer in the army, 
who had settled with his wife upon the island, 
had been so uniformly kind to his slaves, that 
their hearts were with him ; they rose for the 
protection of him and his family, and when the 
way of escape was open, entreated him to take 
them all with him, to live and die in his service. 
The place chosen for his retreat was the English 
island of Trinidad, where he obtained from 
Government a grant of waste land among the 
mountains, to be selected by himself. The centre 
of Trinidad is so mountainous as to be still un- 
cultivated and unsettled, and the count was 
forced to take with him his bodyguard of faith- 
ful negroes, to cut a passage for him through 
the tropical forest. 

The spot he selected was beautifully situated, 
fertile, and well watered ; but the best road he 
could make to it was so rugged as to be unfit 
for the transport of sugar, and he therefore laid 


THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI. 205 

it out for cocoa, upon a design peculiar to him- 
self. The outline of his grounds represented a 
gigantic French general officer, epaulettes and 
all, upon whose prostrate form were ranged 
cocoa-plants, at about fifteen or twenty feet apart, 
each about the size of a gooseberry bush ; and at 
intervals, the forest tree known by the negroes as 
Cocoa-Mammy, because it is supposed to shade, 
nourish, and even gather dew for the cocoa-plants 
under its charge. It is from sixty to eighty feet 
high, and bears brilliant, flame-colored blossoms, 
so that the hills of Trinidad seem all in a blaze 
in its flowering season. To this curiously- 
planned estate the grateful count gave the sur- 
name of La Reconnaissance, and on the first day 
when he brought his countess, and installed the 
negro families in their new abodes, he celebrated 
a solemn thanksgiving. So much was he 
beloved, that twenty years after his death the 
negroes of La Reconnaissance still kept a holi- 
day in his memory. 

These negroes were loyal in a body ; but on 
another estate in St. Domingo there was a 
single loyal exception, a genuine African, not 
born on the estate, but brought thither by the 
slave trade. The whole of his master’s family 
were massacred, excepting two little boys of five 
and three years old, whom he contrived to hide, 
and afterward to escape with to the coast, where 
he put them on board ship, and succeeded in 
conveying them to Carolina. Happily, in those 
days, slavery was apparently on the decline, 
even in the Southern States, and free negroes 
were allowed to be at large in the streets of 


206 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Charleston, so that the faithful man was able to 
maintain the children by his labor ; and not 
only this, but to fulfill his earnest purpose of edu- 
cating them consistently with their parents’ 
station in life. He placed them at a good 
boarding-school, and, while living a hard and 
frugal life himself, gave them each a dollar a 
week for pocket-money. 

The elder of the two went to sea, rose to be 
captain of a merchant ship, and married a Span- 
ish heiress in Cuba, when, on settling upon her 
estate, he at once sent for his good old guardian, 
built him a house, and made him an overseer, 
giving him, in memory of old times, a dollar every 
week for pocket-money, and treating him with 
great affection. The old man lived to a great 
age, and, on his death, his master was surprised 
to find that, though a devout Christian and an 
intelligent man, he still wore round his neck a 
little African amulet, which no doubt his affec- 
tionate spirit retained as the only memory of 
his native land. 

Another negro, named Eustache, who was born 
in 1773, on the sugar plantation of Monsieur 
Belin de Villeneuve, in the northern part of the 
island, had been always a remarkably intelligent 
man, though entirely ignorant, and not even able 
to read. When the bloody attacks on the houses 
of the whites took place, he is said, by his 
timely warnings and ingenious contrivances, to 
have at different times saved the lives of no less 
than 400 white persons without betraying the 
negroes ; and lastly, he was enabled to place his 
master safely on board an American vessel with 


THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI. 207 

a sufficient cargo of sugar to secure him from 
destitution. Eustache himself embarked at the 
same time, considering himself as still M. Belin’s 
slave as completely as though they were still on 
the plantation. On the voyage the vessel was 
captured by an English privateer ; but, while all 
the Americans and French were put under 
hatches, the negro was left at large to profit by 
the liberty the English sailors fancied they had 
conferred upon him. They were a drunken, 
undisciplined set, and while they were carous- 
ing, Eustache played all sorts of antics for their 
amusement, until they were so completely off 
their guard that he succeeded in releasing and 
arming the prisoners and carrying off the 
prize, with the English as prisoners in their 
turn, safe into the roads of Baltimore. He 
there hired himself out to work, and applied all 
his earnings to the assistance of the many ruined 
French from St. Domingo who had taken refuge 
there. After a time it was supposed that the 
French power was re-established in the island, 
and M. Belin ventured back, with a number of 
his friends, in hopes of recovering his property, 
but he found himself in greater danger than 
ever. The town of Fort Dauphin was occupied 
by the Spaniards, and 20,000 negroes, com- 
manded by a black called Jean Fran§ais, were 
encamped on the heights near the town, and 
massacred every Frenchman they encountered. 
The Spaniards gave the unhappy French no 
arms nor assistance, and M. Belin fled for hi» 
life to the sea-shore, pursued by a party of 
blacks. He saw a Spanish guard before him* 


208 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

and, throwing off his coat, ran in among them, 
giving his name to the officer. A Spanish uni- 
form was thrown over him, and he was saved. 

Eustache had been separated from his master 
in the crowd, and, uncertain whether he were 
still alive, resolved at least to save his property. 
He actually persuaded Jean Frangais’ wife to 
let him hide some boxes of valuables under her 
bed, by telling her that, if his master had been 
massacred, they "would belong to himself ; and 
then, going to the place of slaughter, examined 
all the corpses, but happily in vain. After much 
inquiry, he discovered M. Belin, and succeeded in 
getting both him and his property on board ship, 
and bringing all safely a second time to Baltimore. 

M. Belin afterward resided at Port au 
Prince, "where he became president of the 
■council. Eustache continued in his service as 
attached and devoted as ever, and, after a time, 
observing that he was distressed by the increas- 
ing dimness of his eyesight, this devoted slave 
went secretly at four o’clock every morning to 
get himself taught to read, overcame all difficul- 
ties, and, when he thought himself perfect in the 
art, came to his master with a book, and thence- 
forth kept the old man occupied and amused, f 

M. Belin took care to emancipate his faithful 
servant before his death, and left him a consid- 
erable legacy, which he regarded as a trust for 
his master’s distressed countrymen, and spent 
from day to day in acts of beneficence, gaining 
hisov T n livelihood by hiring himself out as a cook 
at great dinners, for he was admirable in that 
•line, and obtained constant employment. In 


THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HATlx. 2 t09 


1831 he was still alive, and was sought out to 
receive the prize for which ten years before M. 
Monthyon had left an endowment, to serve as 
an acknowledgment of the noblest action that 
could each year be discovered. Eustache’s 
exertions were then made known, and, in the 
words of the discourse made on that occasion, 
his daily deeds were thus described : “ Every 

moment some new instance of his incorrigible 
generosity comes to light. Sometimes it is poor 
children whom he has put out to nurse, or 
others whose apprentice fee he has paid. Some- 
times he buys tools or agricultural implements 
for workmen without means. Here, relations 
of his master obtain from him large sums which 
they will not restore and that he will never 
demand ; there, he is left unpaid by persons 
who have employed him, and whom he does not 
press because they have fallen into misfortune, 
and he respects distress.” When he found, to 
his great surprise, how much his doings were 
admired, he answered one of the committee who 
had sought him out, “ Indeed, sir, I am not 
doing this for men, but for the Master above.” 

Eustache was not the only negro who received 
a “prize of virtue.” In 1848 the French liber- 
ated all the slaves in their various colonies, 
without having given sufficient time for prepar- 
ation. The blacks made instant use of their 
freedom by deserting their masters and setting 
up little huts for themselves, with gardens, 
where the tropical climate enabled them to 
grow all their wants required without any need 
for exertion. This was, of course, ruin to the 


210 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

owners of the large plantations hitherto entirely 
dependent on slave labor. Among those thus 
deserted was one in French Guiana, named 
La Parterre, and belonging to a lady, a 
widow with a large family. Out of seventy 
negro slaves, not one remained on the estate 
except Paul Dunez, who had become a sort of 
foreman, and who promised his mistress that he 
would do his utmost for her. He tried at first 
to obtain some hired labor, but not succeeding 
he tried to keep as much as possible under 
cultivation, though he had no one to help him 
but his wife and young sons. The great diffi- 
culty was in keeping up the dykes which fence 
out the coast from the sea on that low, marshy 
coast of northern South America, a sort of 
tropical Holland. Day after day was Paul 
laboring at the dykes, and at every spring tide 
he would watch for two or three nights together, 
so as to be ready to repair any breach in the 
embankment. This went on for thirty-two 
months, and was labor freely given without hire, 
for faithful loyalty’s sake ; but at last the 
equinoctial tides of 1851 were too much for 
Paul’s single arm, — he could not be at every 
breach at once, and the plantation was all laid 
under water. 

To work he set again to repair the damage as 
best he might, and the government at Cayenne, 
hearing of his exertions, resolved to assign to 
him a prize which had been founded for the 
most meritorious laborer in the colony ; namely, 
the sum of 600 francs and admission for his son 
into the college at the capital. But Paul’s 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 211 

whole devotion was still to his mistress. Her 
son, not his own, was sent to the college, and 
the 600 francs were expended in fitting the boy 
out as became the former circumstances of his 
family, on whose service Paul continued to 
spend himself. 

The next year his name was sent up to Paris, 
and the first prize of virtue was decreed to him 
for his long course of self-denying exertions. 

o 

THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 

1720 AND ABOUT 1805. 

No one in Great Britain has deserved warmer 
or more loving esteem than Helen Walker, the 
Scottish maiden, who though she would not 
utter a word of untruth to save her sister from 
being sentenced to death, yet came on foot from 
Edinburgh to London, made her way to the 
Duke of Argyle, and being introduced by him, 
by her entreaties obtained that sister’s pardon 
from Queen Caroline, who was acting as 
Regent in the absence of George II. It is hard 
to say which was the most glorious, the God- 
fearing truth that strengthened this peasant 
girl to risk a life so dear to her, or the trustful 
courage and perseverance that carried her 
through a journey, which in the early part of 
the eighteenth century was both tedious and 
full of danger ; and it is satisfactory to know 
that her after-life, though simple and homely. 


312 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

by no means was unworthy of the high excel- 
lence of her youth. Her sister, Tibbie, for 
whom she had done so much, married and left 
her, and she lived on to be remembered by her 
neighbors as a religious, quiet old woman, gain- 
ing her living by knitting new feet to old stock- 
ings, teaching little children, and keeping 
•chickens. Her neighbors respected her, and 
called her a “ lofty body.” They used to tell 
that in a thunder-storm she used to move her- 
self with her work and her Bible to the front 
of the house, saying that the Almighty could 
smite as w T ell in the city as in the field. Sir 
Walter Scott made her the model of the most 
beautiful character he ever drew, and after- 
ward placed a monument to her honor in her 
©wr. village church. 

In the beginning of this century, a girl 
younger than Helen Walker was impelled to a 
journey beside which that from Edinburgh to 
London seems only like a summer stroll, and 
her motive was in like manner deep affection, 
love truly stronger than death. As Helen 
Welker served to suggest the Jeanie Deans of 
the “ Heart of Mid-Lothian,” so Prascovia 
Lopouloff was the origin of Elizabeth, the her- 
oine of Madame Cottin’s “ Exiles of Siberia,” 
but in both cases the real facts have been a 
good deal altered in the tales, and we may 
doubt whether the Russian lady appears to so 
much advantage, when dressed up by the 
French authoress, as does the Scottish lassie in 
the hands of her countrymen. 

Prascovia was the daughter of a captain in 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 21$ 

the Russian army, who for some unknown rea- 
son had undergone the sentence of exile to 
Siberia, from the capricious and insane Czar, 
Paul I. The Russian government, being despotic, 
is naturally inclined to be suspicious, and it 
has long been the custom to send off persons 
supposed to be dangerous to the state, to live in 
the intensely cold and remote district of Siberia. 
Actual criminals are marched off in chains, and 
kept working in the mines ; but political 
offenders are permitted to live with their fami- 
lies, have a weekly sum allowed for their sup- 
port, and when it is insufficient can eke it out by 
any form of labor they prefer, whether by hunt- 
ing, or by such farming as the climate will 
allow. 

The miseries of the exiles have been much 
mitigated in these latter times, many mor?> 
comforts are permitted them, and though 
closely watched, and suffering from many an- 
noying regulations, those of higher rank receive 
a sufficient sum out of their own revenues to 
enable them to live in tolerable ease, and with- 
out actual drudgery ; and at Tobolsk, the capi- 
tal of Siberia, there is a highly educated and 
accomplished society of banished Poles and 
Russians who have incurred suspicion. 

Under the Czars who reigned before the 
kind-hearted Alexander I., the banishment was- 
far more terrible. It was not only the being 
absent from home and friends, but it was a fall 
from all the luxuries of civilized life to the 
utmost poverty, and that in a climate of fearful 
severity, with a winter lasting nine months, and 


2l4 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

the sun unseen for many weeks of that time- 
Captain Lopouloff was condemned for life, was 
placed in the village of Ischim, far to the north 
of Tobolsk, and only obtained an allowance of 
ten kopecks a day. His wife, and their little 
girl of about three years old, accompanied him, 
and the former adapted herself patiently to her 
situation, working hard at the compaon domestic 
cares for which she had been used to trust to 
servants; and as the little Prascovia grew 
older, she not only helped her mother, but 
gained employment in the village, going out to 
assist in the late and scanty rye harvest, and 
obtaining a small bundle of the rye as her wages. 
She was very happy, even in this wild, dreary 
home, amid all the deep snows, iron frosts, and 
long darkness, until she was nearly fifteen, when 
she began to understand how wretched her 
father was in his banishment. He had sent a 
petition to the Governor of Siberia, in the 
charge of an officer, who had promised to repre- 
sent his case strongly, and the w T atching for the 
^answer, and continued disappointment, when- 
ever a courier arrived from Tobolsk, rendered 
him so restless, that he no longer tried to put 
on a cheerful countenance before his daughter, 
but openly lamented his hard fate, in seeing her 
growing up untaught and working with her 
hands like the meanest serf. 

His despair awoke Prascovia from her 
childish enjoyments. She daily prayed that he 
might be brought home and comforted, and, as 
she said herself, it one day darted into her mind 
like a flash of lightning, just as she finished say- 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARBON. 215 

mg her prayers, that she might go to Peters- 
burg and obtain his pardon. Long did she 
dwell upon the thought, going along among the 
pine-trees to dream over it, and to pray that 
grace and strength might be given her for this 
great work, — this exceeding bliss of restoring 
her father to his home. Still she durst not 
mention the project ; it seemed so impossible, 
that it died away upon her lips whenever she 
tried to ask her father’s permission, till at last 
she set herself a time, at which nothing should 
prevent her from speaking. The day came; 
she went out among the whispering pines, and 
again prayed for strength to make her proposal, 
and that her father might be led to listen to it 
favorably. But prayers are not always soon 
answered. Her father listened to her plan in 
silence, then called out to his wife : “ Here is a 
fine patroness ! Our daughter is going off to 
Petersburg to speak for us to the emperor,” 
and he related all the scheme that had been 
laid before him, with such a throbbing heart, 
in a tone of amusement. 

“She ought to be attending to her work 
instead of talking nonsense,” said the wife ; and 
when poor Prascovia, more mortified at derisions 
than by anger, began to cry bitterly, her 
mother held out a cloth to her, saying in a kind, 
half- coaxing tone, “ Here, my dear, dust the 
table for dinner, and then you may set off to 
Petersburg at your ease.” 

* Still day after day Prascovia returned to the 
charge, entreating that her scheme might at 
least be considered, till her father grew dis- 


216 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

pleased, and severely forbade her to mention it 
again. She abstained ; but for three whole 
years she never failed to add to her daily 
prayers a petition that his consent might be 
gained. During this time her mother had a 
long and serious illness, and Prascovia’s care, 
as both nurse and housewife, gave her father 
and mother such confidence in her, that they 
no longer regarded her as a child ; and when 
she again ventured to bring her plan before 
them, they did not laugh at her, but besought 
her not to leave them in their declining years 
to expose herself to danger on so wild a project. 
She answered by tears, but she could not lay it 
aside. 

Another difficulty was, that without a pass- 
port she would have been immediately sent back 
to Ischim, and so many petitions from her father 
had been disregarded, that there was little 
chance that any paper sent by him to Tobolsk 
would be attended to. However, she found one 
of their fellow-exiles who drew up a request in 
due form for a passport for her, and after six 
months more of waiting the answer arrived. She 
was not herself a prisoner, she could leave 
Siberia whenever she pleased, and the passport 
was enclosed for her. Her father, however, 
seized upon it, and locked it up, declaring that 
he had only allowed the application to go in 
the certainty that it would be refused, and that 
nothing should induce him to let a girl of 
eighteen depart alone for such a journey. 

Prascovia still persevered, and her disap- 
pointment worked upon her mother to promise 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 21 ? 

not to prevent her from going, providing her 
father consented, and at last he yielded. 
“ What shall we do with this child ? ” he said : 
“ we shall have to let her go.” Still he said, 
“ Do you think, poor child, that you can speak 
to the emperor as you speak to your father in 
Siberia ? Sentinels guard every entrance to his 
palace, and you will never pass the threshold. 
Poor even to beggary, without clothes or intro- 
ductions, how could you appear, and who will 
deign to present you ? ” However, Prascovia 
trusted that the same Providence that had 
brought her the passport would smooth other 
difficulties ; she had boundless confidence in 
the Power to whom she had committed herself, 
and her own earnest will made obstacles seem 
as nothing. That her undertaking should not 
be disobedient was all she desired. And at 
length the consent was won, and the 8th of 
September fixed for her day of departure. 

At dawn she was dressed, with a little bag 
over her shoulder, and her father was trying to 
make her take the whole family store of wealth, 
one silver rouble, though, as she truly said, this 
was not enough to take her to Petersburg, and 
might do some good at home, and she only took 
it at last when he laid his strict commands on 
her. Two of the poorest of the exiles tried to 
force on her all the money they had, — thirty 
copper kopecks and a silver twenty-kopeck 
piece ; and though she refused these, she affec- 
tionately promised that the kind givers should 
9hare in any favor she should obtain. 

When the first sunbeam shone into the room. 


213 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

there was, according to the beautiful old Rus- 
sian custom, a short, solemn silence, for private 
prayer for the traveler. Then, after a few 
words, also customary, of indifferent conversa- 
tion, there was a last embrace, and Prascovia, 
kneeling down, received her parents’ blessing, 
rose up, and set her face upon her way, — a girl 
of nineteen, with a single rouble in her pocket, 
to walk through vast expanses of forest, and 
make her way to the presence of her sovereign. 

The two poor exiles did their utmost for her 
by escorting her as far as they were allowed to 
go from Ischim, and they did not leave her till 
she had joined a party of girls on their way to 
one of the villages she had to pass. Once they 
had a fright from some half-tipsy lads ; but they 
shook them off, and reached the village, where 
Prascovia was known and hospitably lodged 
for the night. She was much tired in the 
morning, and when she first set forth on her 
way, the sense of terror at her loneliness was 
almost too much for her, till she thought of the 
angel who succored Hagar, and took courage ; 
but she had mistaken the road, and by and by 
found herself at the last village she had passed 
the night before. Indeed, she often lost her 
way ; and when she asked the road to Peters- 
burg, she was only laughed at. She knew the 
names of no nearer places in the way, but 
fancied that the sacred town of Kief, where the 
Russian power had first begun, was on the 
route ; so if people did not know which was the 
road to Petersburg, she would ask for Kief. 
One day, when she came to a place where three 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 219 


roads branched off, she asked some travelers in 
a carriage that passed her, which of them led to 
Kief. “ Whichever you please,” they answered, 
laughing; “one leads as much as the other 
either to Kief, Paris, or Rome.” She chose the 
middle one, which was fortunately the right, 
but she was never able to give any exact account 
of the course she had taken, for she confused 
the names of the villages she passed, and only 
remembered certain incidents that had impressed 
themselves on her memory. In the lesser ham- 
lets she was usu 11 1 * 11 :eived in the first 



cottage where 


shelter, but in 


larger places, with houses of a superior order, 
she was often treated as a suspicious-looking 
vagabond. For instance, when not far from a 
place called Kamouicheff, she was caught in a 
furious storm at the end of a long day’s march. 
She hurried on in hopes of reaching the nearest 
houses ; but a tree was blown down just before 
her, and she thought it safer to hasten into a 
thicket, the close bushes of which sheltered her 
a little against the wind. Darkness came on 
before the storm abated enough for her to ven- 
ture out, and there she stayed, without daring 
to move, though the rain at length made its 
way through the branches, and soaked her to 
the skin. At dawn, she dragged herself to the 
road, and was there offered a place in a cart 
driven by a peasant, who set her down in the 
middle of the village at about eight o’clock in 
the morning. She fell down while getting out, 
and her clothes were not only wet through with 
the night’s drenching, but covered with mire ; 


220 BOOK OP GOLDEN DEEDS. 

she was spent with cold and hunger, and felt 
herself such a deplorable object, that the neat- 
ness of the houses filled her with alarm. She, 
however, ventured to approach an open window, 
where she saw a woman shelling peas, and begged 
to be allowed to rest and dry herself, but the 
woman surveyed her scornfully, and ordered 
her off ; and she met with no better welcome at 
any other house. At one, where she sat down 
at the door, the mistress drove her off, saying 
that she harbored neither thieves nor vagabonds. 
“ At least,” thought the poor wanderer, “ they 
cannot hunt me from the church ; ” but she 
found the door locked, and when she sat down 
on the stone steps, the village boys came round 
her, hooting at her, and calling her a thief and 
runaway ; and thus she remained for two whole 
hours, ready to die with cold and hunger, but 
inwardly praying for strength to bear this terri- 
ble trial. 

At last, however, a kinder woman came up 
through the rude little mob, and spoke to her 
in a" gentle manner. Prascovia told what a 
terrible night she had spent in the wood, and 
the starost, or village magistrate, examined her 
passport, and found that it answered for her 
character. The good woman offered to take her 
home, but on trying to rise, she found her limbs 
so stiff that she could not move ; she had lost 
one of her shoes, and her feet were terribly 
swollen ; indeed, she never entirely recovered 
the effects of that dreadful night of exposure. 
The villagers were shocked at their own inhos- 
pitality ; they fetched a cart and lodged her 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 221 

safely with the good woman, with whom she 
remained several days, and when she was again 
able to proceed, one of the villagers gave her a 
pair of boots. She was often obliged to rest for 
a day or two, according to the state of her 
strength, the weather, or the reception she met 
with, and she always endeavored to requite the 
hospitality she received by little services, such 
as sweeping, washing, or sewing for her hosts. 
She found it wiser not to begin by telling her 
story, or people book her for an impostor ; she 
generally began by begging for a morsel of 
food ; then, if met with a kind answer, she 
would talk of her weariness and obtain leave to 
rest ; and when she was a little more at home 
with the people of the house, would tell them 
her story ; and w T hen, if nothing else would do, 
she was in urgent need, the sight of her pass- 
port secured attention to her from the petty 
authorities, since she was there described as the 
daughter of a captain in the army. But she 
always said that she did not, comparatively, 
often meet with rebuffs, whilst the act of kind- 
ness she had received were beyond counting. 
“ People fanc} r ,” she used afterward to say, 
“ that . . . most disastrous, because I tell 

the troubles and adventures that befell me, and 
pass over the kind welcomes I received, because 
nobody cares to hear them.” 

Once she had a terrible fright. She had 
been refused an entrance at all the houses in a 
village street, when an old man, who had been 
very short and sharp in his rejection, came and 
called her back. She did not like his looks. 


222 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

but there was no help for it, and she turned 
back with him. His wife looked even more 
repulsive than himself, and no sooner had they 
entered the miserable one-roomed cottage, than 
she shut the door and fastened it with strong 
bolts, so that the only light in the place came 
from oak slips which were set on fire and stuck 
into a hole in the wall. By their flicker Pras- 
covia thought she saw the old people staring at 
her most unpleasantly, and presently they asked 
her where she came from. 

“ From Ischim. I am going to Petersburg.” 

“ And you have plenty of money for the jour- 
ney ? ” 

“ Only 80 copper-kopecks now,” said Pras- 
covia, very glad just then to have no more. 

“ That’s a lie,” shouted the old woman ; 
“ people don’t go that distance without money.” 

She vainly declared it was all she had ; they 
did not believe her, and she could hardly keep 
back her tears of indignation and terror. At 
last they gave her a few potatoes to eat, and 
told her to lie down on the great brick stove, 
the wide ledges of which are the favorite 
sleeping-places of the poorer Russians. She 
laid aside her upper garments, and with them 
her pockets and her pack, hoping within herself 
that the smallness of the sum might at least 
make her not worth murdering ; then praying 
with all her might, she lay down. As soon as 
they thought her asleep, they began whispering. 

“ She must have more money,” they said ; 
“ she certainly has notes.” 

“ I saw a string round her neck,” said the 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 223 

old woman, “and a little bag hanging to it. 
The money must be there.” 

Then after some lower murmurs, they said, 
“No one saw her come in here. She is not 
known to be still in the village.” 

And next the horrified girl saw the old 
woman climbing up the stove. She again de- 
clared that she had no money, and entreated 
for her life, but the woman made no answer,, 
only pulled the bag from off her neck, and felt 
her clothes all over, even taking off her boots,, 
and opening her hands, while the man held the 
light ; but, at last, finding nothing in the bag 
but the passport, they left her alone and lay 
down themselves. She lay trembling a good 
while, but at last she knew by their breathing 
that they were both asleep, and she, too, fell 
into a slumber from which she did not waken 
till the old woman roused her at broad daylight. 
There was a plentiful breakfast of peasant fare 
prepared for her, and both spoke to her much 
more kindly, asking her questions, in reply to 
which she told them part of her story. They 
seemed interested, and assured her that they 
only had searched her because they thought she 
might be a dishonest wanderer, but that she 
would find that they were far from being rob- 
bers themselves. Prascovia was heartily glad 
to leave their house ; but when she ventured to 
look into her little store, she found that her 80 
kopecks had become 120. She always fully 
believed that these people had had the worst 
intentions, and she thanked God for having 
turned their hearts. Her other greatest alarm 


224 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

was one morning, when she had set out from 
her night’s lodging before anyone was up, and 
all the village dogs flew at her. Running and 
striking with her stick only made them more 
furious, and one of them was tearing at the 
bottom of her gown, when she flung herself on 
her face recommending her soul to God, as she 
felt a cold nose upon her neck ; but the beast 
was only smelling her, she was not even once 
bitten, and a peasant passing by drove them off. 

Winter began to come on, and an eight days’ 
snow-storm forced her to stop till it was over ; 
but when she wanted to set off again, the peas- 
ants declared that to travel on foot alone in the 
snow would be certain death even to the strong- 
est men, for the wind raises the drifts and 
makes the way indistinguishable, and they de- 
tained her till the arrival of a convoy of sledges, 
which were taking provisions to Ekatherinen- 
burg for the Christmas feasts. The drivers, on 
learning her story, offered her a seat in a sledge, 
but her garments were not adapted for winter 
traveling, and though they covered her with 
one of the wrappers of their goods, on the 
fourth day, when they arrived at the kharstina, 
or solitary posting-station, the intense cold had 
so affected her that she was obliged to be lifted 
from the sledge, with one cheek frost-bitten. 
The good carriers rubbed it with snow, and 
took every possible care of her ; but they said 
it was impossible to take her on without a 
sheepskin pelisse, since otherwise her death from 
the increasing cold was certain. She cried 
biUei iy at the thought of missing this excellent 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 225 

escort, and, on the other hand, the people of the 
kharstina would not keep her. The carriers 
then agreed to club together to buy her a 
sheepskin, but none could be had ; no one at 
the station would spare theirs, as they were in a 
lonely place and could not easily get another. 
Though the carriers even offered a sum beyond 
the cost to the maid of the inn, if she would 
part with hers, she still refused : but at last an 
expedient was found. “ Let us lend her our 
pelisses by turns,” said one of the carriers. 
“ Or rather, let her always wear mine, and we 
will change about every verst.” To this all 
agreed ; Prascovia was well wrapped up in one 
of the sheepskin pelisses, whose owner rolled 
himself in the wrapper, curled his feet under 
him, and sung at the top of his lungs. Every 
verst-stone there was a shifting of sheepskins, 
and there was much merriment over the 
changes, while all the way Prascovia’s silent 
prayers arose, that these kind men’s health 
might suffer no injury from the cold to which 
they thus exposed themselves. 

At the inn at which they put up at Ekather- 
inenburg, the hostess told Prascovia the names* 
of the most charitable persons in the town, and 
so especially praised a certain Madame Milin, 
that Prascovia resolved to apply to her the 
next day for advice how to proceed further. 
First, as it was Sunday, however, she went to 
church. Her worn traveling dress, as well as 
her fervent devotion, attracted attention, and 
as she came out, a lady asked her who she was. 
Prascovia gave her name, and further requested 


226 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

to be directed where to find Madam Milin, 
whose benevolence was everywhere talked of. 
“ I am afraid,” said the lady, “ that this Madame 
Milin’s beneficence is a good deal exaggerated ; 
but come with me and I will take care of you.” 

Prascovia did not much like this way of speak- 
ing, but the stranger pointed to Madame Milin’s 
door, saying that if she were rejected there, she 
must return to her. Without answering, Pras- 
kovia asked the servants whether Madame 
Milin was at home, and only when they looked 
at their mistress in amazement, did she discover 
that she had been talking to Madame Milin 
herself all the time. 

This good lady kept her as a guest all the 
rest of the winter, and strove to remedy the 
effects of the severe cold she had caught on the 
night of the tempest. At the same time, she 
taught Prascovia many of the common matters 
of education becoming her station. Captain 
Lopouloff and his wife had been either afraid 
to teach their daughter anything that would 
recall their former condition in life, or else had 
become too dispirited and indifferent for the 
Exertion, and Prascovia had so entirely forgotten 
Ml she had known before her father’s banish- 
ment, that she had to learn to read and write over 
again. She could never speak of Madame 
Milin’s kindness without tears, but the comfort 
and ease in which she now lived made her all 
the more distressed at the thought of her parents 
toiling alone among the privations of their 
snowy wilderness. Madame Milin, however, 
would not allow her to leave Ekatherinenburg 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 227 

till the spring, and then took a place for her in 
a barge upon the river Khama, a confluent of 
the Volga, and put her under the care of a 
man who was going to Nishni Novgorod, with 
a cargo of iron and salt. 

Unfortunately this person fell sick and was 
obliged to be left behind at a little village on 
the banks of the Khama, and Prascovia was 
again left unprotected. In ascending the Volga, 
the barge was to\yed along by horses on the 
bank, and in a short, sharp storm, the boatman, 
in endeavoring to keep the barge from running 
against the bank, pushed Prascovia and two 
other passengers overboard with a heavy oar. 
They were instantly rescued, but there was no 
privacy on the barge, and as Prascovia could 
not bear to undress herself in public, her wet 
clothes increased the former injury to her 
health. Madame Milin, trusting to the person 
to wffiom she had confided her young friend, to 
forward her on from Novgorod, had given her 
no introductions to any one there, nor any di- 
rections how to proceed, and the poor girl was 
thus again cast upon the world alone, though, 
thanks to her kind friend, with rather more 
both in her purse and in her bundle than when 
she had left Ischim ; but, on the other hand, 
with a far clearer knowledge of the difficulties 
that lay before her, and a much greater dread 
of cities. 

The bargemen set her ashore at the foot of a 
bridge at the usual landing-place. She saw a 
church on a rising ground before her, and ac- 
cording to her usual custom, she went up to 


228 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

pray there before going to seek a lodging. The 
building was empty, but behind a grating she 
heard the voices of women at their evening 
devotions. It was a nunnery, and these female 
tones refreshed and encouraged her. “ If God 
grants my prayers,” she thought, “ I shall hide 
myself under such a veil as theirs, for I shall 
have nothing to do but to thank and praise 
Him.” After the service, she lingered near 
the convent, dreading to expose herself to the 
rude remarks she might meet at an inn, and at 
last, reproaching herself for this failure in her 
trust, she returned into the church to renew 
her prayer for faith and courage. One of the 
nuns who had remained there told her it was 
time to close the doors, and Prascovia ventured 
to tell her of her repugnance to enter an inn 
alone, and to beg for a night’s shelter in the 
convent. The sister replied that they did not 
receive travelers, but that the abbess might 
give her some assistance. Prascovia showed 
her purse and explained that the kind friends 
at Ekatherinenburg had placed her above want, 
and that all she needed was a night’s lodging ; 
and the nun, pleased with her manner, took her 
to the abbess. Her artless story, supported by 
her passport, and by Madame Milin’s letters, 
filled the good sisterhood with excitement and 
delight ; the abbess made her sleep in her own 
room, and finding how severely she was suffering 
from the effects of her fall into the Volga, in- 
sisted on her remaining a few days to rest. 
Before those few days were over, Prascovia was 
Ceized with so dangerous an illness that the 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 229 

physicians themselves despaired of her life ; but 
even at the worst she never gave herself up. 
“ I do not believe my hour is come,” she said. 
“ I hope God will allow me to finish my work.” 
And she did recover, though so slowly that all 
the summer passed by before she could continue 
her journey, and then she was too weak for 
rough posting-vehicles, and could only wait 
among the nuns for the roads to be fit for 
sledges. 

At last she set off again for Moscow in a 
covered sledge, with a letter from the abbess to 
a lady, who sent her on again to Petersburg, 
under the care of a merchant, with a letter to 

the Princess de T , and thus at length she 

arrived at the end of her journey, eighteen 
months after she had set off from Ischim with 
her rouble and her staff. The merchant took 
her to his own house, but before he had found 
out the Princess, he was obliged to go to Riga, 
and his wife, though courteous and hospitable, 
did not exert herself to forward the cause of 
her guest. She tried to find one of the ladies 
to whom she had been recommended, but the 
house was on the other side of the Neva and as 
it was now February, the ice was in so unsafe a 
state that no one was allowed to pass. A visi- 
tor at the merchant’s advised her to get a peti- 
tion to the Senate drawn up, begging for a 
revision of her father’s trial, and offered to get 
it drawn up for her. Accordingly, day after 
day, for a whole fortnight, did the p^or girl 
stand on the steps of the Senate-house, holding 
out her petition to every one whom she fancied 


230 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

to be a senator, and being sometimes roughly 
spoken to, sometimes waved aside, sometimes 
offered a small coin as a beggar, but never 
attended to. Holy Week came on, and Pras- 
covia’s devotions and supplications were ad- 
dressed entirely to her God. On Easter-day, 
that day of universal joy, she was unusually 
hopeful ; she went out with her hostess in the 
carriage, and told her that she felt a certainty 
that another time she should meet with success. 

“ I would trouble myself no more with sen- 
ates and senators,” said the lady. “ It is just 
as well worth while as it would be to offer your 
petition to yonder iron man,” pointing to the 
famous statue of Peter the Great. 

“Well,” said Prascovia, “God is Almighty, 
and if He would, He could make that iron man 
stoop and take my petition.” 

The lady laughed carelessly; but as they 
were looking at the statue, she observed that 
the bridge of boats over the Neva was restored 
and offered to take Prascovia at once to leave 

her letter with Mde. de L . They found 

this lady at home, and already prepared to 
expect her ; she received her most kindly, and 
looked at the petition, which she found so 
ignorantly framed and addressed, that it was 
no wonder that it had not been attended to. 
She said that she had a relation high in office 
in the Senate who could have helped Prascovia, 
but that unfortunately they were not on good 
terms. 

Easter-day, however, is the happy occasion 
when, in the Greek Church, all reconciliations 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 231 

are made. Families make a point of meeting 
with the glorious greeting : “ Christ is risen,” 
and the response, “ He is risen indeed ; ” and 
the kiss exchanged at these glad tidings seals 
general pardon for all the bickerings of th$ 
year. And while Prascovia was at dinner with 
her friends, this very gentleman came in, with 
the accustomed words, and, without further 
delay, she was introduced to him, and her cir- 
cumstances explained. He took great interest 
in her, but assured her that application to the 
Senate was useless ; for even if she should 
prevail to have the trial revised, it would be a 
tedious and protracted affair, and very uncer- 
tain ; so that it would be far better to trust to 
the kind disposition of the Czar Alexander 
himself. 

Prascovia went back to the merchant’s 
greatly encouraged, and declaring that, after 
all, she owed something to the statue of Peter 
the Great, for but for him they might not have 
observed that the Neva was open ! The mer- 
chant himself now returned from Riga, and was 
concerned at finding her affairs no forwarder. 

He took her at once to the Princess de T , 

a very old lady, who received her kindly and 
let her remain in her house ; but it was full of 
grand company and card-playing, and the 
Princess herself was so aged and infirm, that 
she, as well as all her guests, forgot all about 
the young stranger, who, with a heart pining 
with hope deferred, meekly moved about the 
house, — finding that every opening of promise 
led only to disappointment. Still she recollected 


232 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

that she had been advised to present a request 

to M. V , one of the secretaries of the 

Empress Mary, widow of the last, and mother 
of the present Czar. With this she went to his 
house. He had heard of her, but fancying hers 
a common case of poverty, had put out fifty 
roubles to be given to her. He was not at 
home when she called ; but his wife saw her, 
was delighted with her, drew from her the 
whole story of her perseverance in her father’s 

cause, and kept her to see M. Y . He, 

too, was warmly interested, and going at once 
to the empress-mother, who was one of the 
most gentle and charitable women in the world, 
he brought back her orders that she should be 
presented to the empress that very evening. 

Poor child, she turned pale and her eyes 
filled with tears at this sudden brightening of 

hope. Instead of thanking M. V , her 

first exclamation was, “ My God, not in vain 
have I put my trust in Thee.” Then kissing 

Mme. V ’s hands, she cried, “You, you 

alone can make my thanks acceptable to the 
good man who is saving my father ! ” 

She never disturbed herself as to her dress, 
or any matter of court etiquette : her simple 
heart was wrapped up in its one strong purpose. 

Mme. V merely arranged the dress she 

had on, and sent her off with the secretary. 
When she really saw the palace before her, she 
said, “ O, if my father could see me, how glad 
he would be. My God, finish Thy work ! ” 

The Empress Mary was a tender-hearted 
woman of the simplest manners. She received 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 233 

Prascovia in her private room, and listened 
most kindly to her story ; then praised her self- 
devotion and filial love, and promised to speak 
in her behalf to the emperor, — giving her 300 
roubles for her present needs. Prascovia was 
so much overcome by her kindness, that when 

afterward Mme. V asked how she had 

sped in her interview, she could only weep for 
gladness. ' 

Two days after the empress-mother herself 
took her to a private audience of the emperor 
himself and his wife, the Empress Elizabeth. 
No particulars are given of this meeting, ex- 
cept that Prascovia was most graciously 
received, and that she came away with a gift 
of 5000 roubles and the promise that her 
father’s trial should be at once revised. 

And now all the persons who had scarcely 
attended Prascovia vied with each other in 
making much of her ; they admired her face, 
found out that she had the stamp of high birth, 
and invited her to their drawing-rooms. She 
was as quiet and unmoved as ever ; she never 
thought of herself, nor of the effect she pro- 
duced, but went on in her simplicity, enjoying 
all that was kindly meant. Two ladies took 
her to see the state apartments of the Imperial 
palace. When they pointed to the throne, she 
stopped short, exclaiming, “ Is that the throne? 
Then that is what I dreaded so much in Siber- 
ia ! ” And as all her past hopes and fears, her 
dangers and terrors, rushed on her, she clasped 
her hands, and exclaiming, “ The emperor’s 
throne ! ” she almost fainted. Then she begged 


234 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

leave to draw near, and, kneeling down, she 
kissed the steps, of which she had so often 
dreamt as the term of her labors, and she 
exclaimed aloud, “Father, father! see whither 
the Divine Power has led me ! My God, bless 
this throne, — bless him who sits on it, — make 
him as happy as he is making me ! ” The 
ladies could hardly get her away from it, and 
she was so much exhausted by the strength of 
her feelings that she could not continue her 
course of sight-seeing all that day. 

She did not forget the two fellow-exiles who 
had been so kind to her ; she mentioned them 
to every one, but was always advised not to 
encumber her suit for her father by mentioning 
them. However, when, after some delay, she 
received notice that a ukase had been issued 
for her father’s pardon, and was further told 
that His Majesty wished to know if she had 
anything to ask for herself, she replied that he 
would overwhelm her with his favors if he 
would extend the same mercy that he had 
granted to her father to these two poor old 
banished gentlemen ; and the emperor, struck 
by this absence of all selfishness, readily par- 
doned them for their offence, which had been 
of a political nature, and many years old. 

Prascovia had always intended to dedicate 
herself as a nun, believing that this would be 
her fullest thank-offering for her father’s par- 
don, and her heart was drawn toward the 
convent at Nishni, where she had been so 
tenderly nursed during her illness. First, how- 
ever, she went to Kief, the place where the 


THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 23& 

first, Christian teaching in Russia had begun, 
and where the tombs of St. Olga, the pious- 
queen, and Vladimir, the destroyer of idols, 
were objects of pilgrimage. There she took 
the monastic vows, a step which seems surpris- 
ing in so dutiful a daughter, without her par- 
ent’s consent ; but she seems to have thought 
that only thus could her thankfulness be 
evinced, and to have supposed herself fulfilling 
the vows she had made in her distress. From 
Kief she returned to Nishni, where she hoped 
to meet her parents. She had reckoned that 
about the time of her arrival they might be on 
their way back from Siberia, and as soon as- 
she met the abbess, she eagerly asked if there 
were no tidings of them. “ Excellent tidings,” 
said the abbess. “ I will tell you in my rooms.” 
Prascovia followed her in silence, until they 
reached the reception-room, and there stood 
her father and mother ! Their first impulse on 
seeing the daughter who had done so much for 
them was to fall on their knees ; but she cried 
out with dismay, and herself kneeling, ex- 
claimed, “What are you doing? It is God, 
God only, who worked for us. Thanks be to 
His providence for the wonders He has 
wrought in our favor.” 

For one week the parents and child were- 
happy together; but then Captain Lopoulofi* 
and his wife were forced to proceed on their 
journey. The rest of Prascovia’ s life was one- 
long decline, her health had been fatally injured 
by the sufferings that she had undergone ; and 
though she lived some years, and saw her 


236 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

parents again, she was gently fading away all 
the time. She made one visit to Petersburg, and 
one of those who saw her there described her 
as having a fine oval face, extremely black 
oyes, an open brow, and a remarkable calmness 
of expression, though with a melancholy smile. 
It is curious that Scott has made this open- 
browed serenity of expression a characteristic 
of his Jeanie Deans. 

Prascovia’s illness ended suddenly on the 9th 
•of December, 1809. She had been in church 
on that same morning, and was lying on her 
bed, with the sisters talking round her, when 
they observed that they were tiring her. They 
went away for one of their hours of prayer, 
leaving one, who began to chant the devotions 
aloud, but Prascovia begged her to read instead 
of singing, as the voice disturbed her prayers. 
Still she did not complain, and they left her at 
night without alarm, but in the morning they 
found her in her last long sleep, her hands 
forming the sign of the cross. 

AGOSTINA OF ZARAGOZA. 

1808. 

One of the most unjustifiable acts of Napo- 
leon’s grasping policy was the manner in which 
he entrapped the poor, foolish, weak Spanish 
royal family into his power, and then kept them 


AGOSTINA OF ZARAGOZA. 


237 


in captivity, and gave their kingdom to his 
brother Joseph. The whole Spanish people 
were roused to resistance by this atrocious 
transfer, and the whole of the peasantry rose 
as one man to repel this shameful aggression. 
A long course of bad government had done 
much to destroy the vigor of the nation, and 
as soldiers in the open field they were utterly 
worthless ; but still there were high qualities 
of patience and perseverance among them, and 
these were never more fully shown than in their 
defence of Zaragoza, the ancient capital in the 
kingdom of Aragon. 

This city stands in an open plain, covered 
with olive-grounds, and closed in by high moun- 
tains. About a mile to the southwest of the 
city was some high ground called the Torrero, 
upon which stood a convent, and close beside 
the city flowed the Ebro, crossed by two 
bridges, one of which was made of wood, and 
said to be the most beautiful specimen of the 
kind of fabric in Europe. The water is of a 
dirty red, but grows clear when it has stood 
long enough, and is then excellent to drink. 
There were no regular fortifications, only a 
brick wall, ten or twelve feet high, and three 
feet thick, and often encroached upon by houses. 
Part of it was, however, of old Koman work* 
manship, having been built under Augustus, by 
wlr jm the town was called Caesarea Augusta, a 
name since corrupted into Zaragoza (both z’s 
pronounced as softly as possible). Four of the 
twelve gates were in this old wall, which was 
so well built as to put to shame all the modern 


238 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

buildings and their bad bricks. These were 
the material of even the churches and convents, 
all alike with the houses, and so bad was the 
construction that there were cracks in most of 
the buildings from top to bottom. The houses 
were generally three stories high, the streets 
very narrow and crooked, except one wide and 
long one, called sometimes the Calle Santa, 
sometimes the Cozo. Zaragoza was highly 
esteemed as the first seat of Christianity in 
Spain; indeed, legend declared that St. James 
the Great had preached there, and had beheld 
a vision of the blessed Virgin, standing upon a 
marble pillar, and bidding him there build a 
church in honor of her. The pillar was the 
great object of veneration in Aragon, and there 
was a double cathedral, with service performed 
alternately in the two parts. So much venerated 
was our Lady of the Pillar, that Pilar became 
a girl’s name in the surrounding country, and 
this was the centre of pilgrimages to the Ara- 
gonese, as St. James’ shrine at Compostella 
was to the Castilians. As is well said by 
Southey, in the fiery trial of the Zaragozans, 
“ the dross and tinsel of their faith disappeared, 
and its pure gold remained.” The inhabitants 
appeared, like most Spaniards since the blight 
of Philip IPs policy had fallen on them, dull, 
apathetic beings, too proud and indolent for 
exertion, the men smoking cigaritos at their 
doors, the women only coming out with black 
silk mantillas over their heads to go to church. 
The French, on first seizing it, with the rest of 
Spain, thought it the dullest place they had 


AGOSTINA OF ZARAGOZA. 239 

ever vet entered, and greatly despised the in- 
habitants. 

General Lefebvre Desnouettes was sent to 
quiet the insurrection against the French in 
Aragon ; and on the 13th and 14th of June, 
1808, he easily routed the bodies of Spaniards 
who tried to oppose him. The flying Spanish 
troops were pursued into Zaragoza by the 
French cavalry, but here the inhabitants were 
able from their houses to drive back the enemy. 
Don Jose Palafox, a Spanish nobleman, who 
had been equerry to the king, took the com- 
mand of the garrison, who were only 220 sol- 
diers, and endeavored to arm the inhabitants, 
about 60,000 in number, and all full of the 
most determined spirit of resistance to the inva- 
ders. He had only sixteen cannon and a few 
muskets, but fowling-pieces were collected, and 
pikes were forged by all the smiths in the town. 

The siege began on the 27th of June. The 
French army was in considerable force, and 
had a great supply of mortars and battering 
cannon ; such as could by their shells and shot 
rend the poor brick city from end to end. The 
Torrero quickly fell into their hands, and from 
that height there was a constant discharge of 
those terrible shells and grenades that burst in 
pieces where they fall, and carry destruction 
everywhere. Not one building within the city 
could withstand them, and they were fired, not 
at the walls, but into the town. All that could 
be done was to place beams slanting against the 
houses, so that there might be a shelter under 
them from the shells. The awnings that shel- 


240 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

tered the windows from the summer sun were 
taken down, sewn up into sacks, and filled with 
earth, then piled up before the gates, with a 
deep trench dug before them ; the houses on 
the walls were pulled down, and every effort 
made to strengthen the defences, the whole of 
the lately quiet, lazy population toiling earnestly 
together, in the midst of the deadly shower 
that was always falling from the Torrero, and 
striking down numbers as they worked. 

The same spirit animated every one. The 
Countess Burita, a beautiful young lady, formed 
the women into an organized company for carry- 
ing wine, water, and food to the soldiers on 
guard, and relieving the wounded, and through- 
out the whole siege her courage and perseverance 
never failed. She was continually seen in the 
places most exposed to the enemy’s fire, bring- 
ing help and refreshment wherever she appeared 
among the hard-pressed warriors. The nuns 
became nurses to the sick and wounded, and 
made cartridges, which were carried to the 
defenders by the children of the place. The 
monks attended the sick and dying, or else bore 
arms, feeling that this, — the cause of their 
country, their king, and their faith, — had be- 
come to them a holy war. Thus men, women, 
and children alike seemed full of the same loyal 
spirit ; but some traitor must have been among 
them, for on the night of the 28th, the powder 
magazine in the centre of the town was blown 
up, destroying fourteen houses and killing 200 
people. At the same time, evidently prepared 
to profit by the confusion thus caused, the 


AGOSTIXA OF ZARAGOZA. 241 

French appeared before three of the gates, and 
a dreadful fire began from the Torrero, shells 
bursting everywhere among the citizens, who 
were striving in the dark to dig their friends 
out of the ruined houses. 

The worst of the attack was at the gate called 
Portillo, and lasted the whole day. The sand- 
bag defence was frequently destroyed by the 
fire, and as often renewed under this dreadful 
shot by the undaunted Spaniards. So dreadful 
was the carnage, that at one moment every man 
of the defenders lay dead. At that moment 
one of the women who was carrying refresh- 
ments came up. Her name was Agostina 
Zaragoza; she was a fine-looking woman of 
two-and-twenty, and was full of a determined 
spirit. She saw the citizens hesitate to step 
forward to man the defences where certain 
death awaited them. Springing forward, she 
caught the match from the hand of a dead 
gunner, fired his twenty-six pounder, and 
seating herself on it, declared it her charge for 
the rest of the siege. And she kept her word. 
She was the heroine of the siege where all were 
heroines. She is generally called the Maid of 
Zaragoza, but she seems to have been the widow 
of one of the artillerymen, who was here killed, 
and that she continued to serve his gun, — not 
solely as a patriot, but because she thus obtained 
a right to provisions for her little children, who 
otherwise might have starved in the famine that 
began to prevail. If this lessens the romance, 
it seems to us to add to the beauty and woman- 
liness of Agostina’s character, that for the sake 


242 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

of her children, she should have run into the hot- 
test of the peril, and taken up the task in which 
her husband had died. 

Her readiness in that critical moment saved 
the Portillo for that time, but the attacks were 
renewed again and again with equal fury and fear- 
ful bloodshed. The French general had fancied 
that he could easily take such an unfortified 
place, and finding it so difficult, had lost his 
temper, and was thus throwing away his men’s 
lives ; but after several such failures he began 
to invest the city regularly. Gunpowder was 
failing the besieged until they supplied its place 
by wonderful ingenuity. All the sulphur in 
the place was collected, nitre was obtained by 
washing it out of the soil of the streets, and 
charcoal by charring the stalks of the very 
large variety of hemp that grows in that part 
of Spain. At the end of forty-six days the city 
was entirely surrounded, provisions were falling 
short, and there was not a single place safe 
from the shot and shell. On the second of 
August, a hospital caught fire, and the courage 
of the women was again shown by their exer- 
tions in carrying out the sick and wounded 
from the flames in spite of the continued shot 
from the enemy’s batteries ; indeed, throughout 
the siege the number of women and boys who 
were killed was quite as great in proportion 
as that of men; the only difficulty was to 
keep them from running needlessly into 
danger. 

' On the fourth of August, the French opened 
a battery within pistol-shot of the gate called 


AGOSTINA OF ZARAGOZA. 243 

after the great Convent of St. Engracia. The 
mud walls were leveled at the first discharge, 
and after a deadly struggle the besiegers forced 
their way into the convent, and before the end 
of the day had gained all that side of the city, 
up to the main central street, the Cozo. General 
Lefebvre thought all was now over with his 
enemies, and summoned Palafox to surrender, 
in a note containing only these words: “Head- 
quarters, St. Engracia. Capitulation.” The 
answer he received was equally brief : “ Head- 
quarters, Zaragoza. War to the knife.” 

There the) e. A street about as wide as 
Pall-Mall was all that lay between besiegers 
and besieged, to whom every frail brick house 
had become a fortress, while the openings of the 
narrow cross streets were piled up with sand- 
bags to form batteries. Soon the space was 
heaped with dead bodies, either killed on the 
spot or thrown from the windows, and this was 
enough to breed a pestilence among the sur- 
vivors. The French let them lie, knowing that 
such a disease would be the surest destruction 
to the garrison, and they fired on the Spaniards 
whenever they ventured out to bury them. 
Upon this Palafox devised tying ropes to his 
French prisoners, and driving them out to 
bring in the corpses for burial. The enemy 
would not fire on their own countrymen, and 
thus this danger was lessened, although not 
entirely removed, and sickness as well as 
famine was added to the misery of the brave 
Aragonese. The manufacture of powder, too, 
could no longer be carried on, but happily Don 


244 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Francisco, the brother of Palafox, was able to 
make his way into the city with 3000 men, and 
a convoy of arms and ammunition. Padre San- 
tiago Sass, the curate of one of the parishes of 
Zaragoza, showed himself one of the bravest of 
all the brave, fighting at every hazardous point, 
and at other times moving about among the 
sick and dying to give them the last rites of 
the Church. No one’s heart failed in that 
eleven days of one continual battle from house 
to house, from room to room, when the nights 
were times of more dreadful conflict than the 
days. Often, under cover of the darkness, a 
party would rush across to seize a battery ; and 
once a Spaniard made his way under cover of 
the corpses, which filled the whole space between 
the combatants, and fastened a rope to one of 
the French guns. It had almost been dragged 
across the street, and w r as only lost by the 
breaking of the rope. 

On the eighth of August, the Spaniards 
agreed that if they could not hold their ground 
in the city, they must retire across the Ebro, 
break down the bridge, and defend the suburbs 
as they had defended the streets. Only an 
eighth part of their city now remained to them ; 
and on the night of the 13th the enemy’s fire 
was more destructive and constant than ever. 
The great Convent of St. Engracia was blown 
up, the whole of the French part of the city 
glared with flaming houses, the climax of the 
horrors of the siege seemed to come ! But the 
reports of the batteries gradually ceased, and, 
with the early morning light, the garrison 


AGOSTINA OF ZARAGOZA. 245 

beheld the road to Pamplona filled with French 
troops in full retreat. 

In effect, intelligence had been received of 
reverses to the invaders, and of extended move- 
ments among the Spaniards, which had led the 
French to decide on quitting Zaragoza ere 
these desperate defenders should be reinforced 
by the army which was collecting to relieve 
them. 

Their fortitude had won the day. The 
carnage had ended, and it remained for them 
to clear their streets from the remains of the 
deadly strife, and to give thanks for their 
deliverance. Agostina, in testimony of her 
courage, was to receive for life the pay of an 
artilleryman, and to wear a little shield of 
honor embroidered on her sleeve. 

So ended the wonderful siege of Zaragoza. 
It is sad to know that when the French forces 
came in full numbers into Spain, the brave 
town shared the fate of the rest of the country. 
But the resistance had not been in vain; it had 
raised a feeling for the gallant Spaniards 
throughout Europe, and inspired a trust in 
their constancy which contributed to bring 
them that aid from England by which their 
country was, after six years, finally freed from 
the French usurpation. 


246 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


CASAL NOVO. 

1811 . 

There is something exceedingly interesting 
in knowing what a brave and generous man, 
who had never flinched from any danger, 
looked back upon in his last days as the one 
Golden Deed of his life ; and therefore among 
the many noble and spirited actions during the 
war by which the British arms chased the 
usurping French out of the peninsula, that one 
is selected of which the doer spoke thus, forty- 
seven years later, when he thought himself 
upon his death-bed : 

“ As I lie here and think of my past life,” 
said Sir William Napier, “ I feel small — very 
small indeed. I try to remember if I have 
done any good, but the evil far overbalances it. 
We shall all be weighed in the balance, and 
found wanting. In the eye of the great good 
God, earthly goodness can have no positive 
existence, yet He sees and makes allowances for 
us all, giving more credit for good and less 
blame for evil than our fellow-creatures’ harsh 
judging would have done. Men should strive 
after those priceless virtues of patience, wisdom, 
charity, self-sacrifice. In looking back on my 
life, it would be a comfort to me now if I could 
remember to have done a perfectly self-sacrific- 
ing act ; if I could think I had been ready and 
willing at any moment to lay down my life for 
another person’s good. I try to remember, but 


CASAL NOYO. 


247 


I can’t remember that I ever did. I have often 
run into danger, and exposed myself to pain 
sometimes, to save others. Yes, I have done 
that ! but there was always a springing hope, a 
sort of conviction that I should escape; and 
that being so, away flies the merit. The nearest 
thing I ever did to absolute self-sacrifice was at 
Casal Novo, when I received in my back the 
ball that lies there still.” 

The old soldier’s deliberate judgment of all 
the noblest deeds of a long life was the realiz- 
ing of the truth that “ all our righteousnesses 
are as filthy rags,” and no eye but his own 
would have looked at them so critically. But 
let us see the manner of the one thing that 
“ came nearest to self-sacrifice.” 

It was in the year 1811, when Wellington 
had entrenched his army on the slopes of Torres 
Vedras, in Portugal, and there, by his patience 
and sagacity, had repulsed the French army 
under Marshal Massena, and was following up 
his retreat out of the kingdom of Portugal. 
The English and Portuguese troops used to 
rise at three in the morning, and march at four; 
and on the fourteenth of March, when the army 
was setting out in the morning twilight, there 
was a heavy fog covering all the valley in front. 
Sir William Erskine, the general in command 
of the Light Division, consisting of the 52d 
and 43d Regiments and the Rifles, all the very 
flower of the army, was an incompetent man, 
and fancying the French were in full retreat, 
ordered his troops to move forward on their- 
march. Some of the officers objected to the 


243 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

rashness of plunging into the mist without pre- 
caution ; but they were not heeded, and the 
order to advance was given. 

The 52d moved forward first, in a column of 
sections, and were to be followed by the Rifles. 
Down the hillside they went, then across a 
narrow ravine at the bottom, and were mount- 
ing the steep road on the other side, when there 
was a sudden hail of round shot and bullets 
close upon them. The fog cut off their view, 
but the bugles continued to sound the advance, 
and they pushed on through walled fields, the 
enemy giving way before them, till they gained 
the ridge of the hill, though with loss of men, 
and with three captains wounded — one of them 
George Napier, and another, “Jack Jones,” 
afterward the hero of the powder-magazine at 
Ciudad Rodrigo. 

The mist suddenly drew up, and displayed to 
the English troops the hillside covered with 
dark masses of the blue-clad French soldiers, 
and in the midst what looked like a red pimple 
on the ridge, being, in fact, the 52d in the very 
middle of Marshal Ney’s division — so near the 
marshal himself, the bravest of the brave, that 
if they had only been able to see him, they 
might have made him prisoner by his own 
bivouac fire. * 

• The rest of the Light Division were put in 
motion to support them, and Captain William 
Napier was sent forward, with six companies of 
his regiment, the 43d, to aid them on the left. 
When he came to a round hill, he halted, and 
left four companies to watch, while, with the 


CASAL NOVO. 


249 


other two, he descended into one of the narrow 
ravines to join the left of the 52d, whom he 
heard, though he could not see over the ridge 
of the hill. Part of the regiment had charged, 
hut not the whole, and thus Napier, coming up 
into a walled field where he expected to join the 
left side of the 52d, found only Captain Dobbs 
and two men of the 52d cut off from the rest 
of their regiment. 

The French came gathering fast about them, 
and cutting off their retreat. The two officers 
agreed that the boldest course would be the 
safest, so they called to the two companies 
behind them to follow, and sprang over the wall 
in front, meaning to force their way on to the 
52d in front. But only the two 52d men fol- 
lowed, both the companies of the 43d held back ; 
and when the two captains had reached a second 
wall, they found merely this pair of men with 
them, and a great body of the enemy in front, 
closing upon them and firing. 

The wall gave a moment’s protection, and 
Napier declared he would either save Dobbs or 
lose his own life by bringing up his two com- 
panies. Dobbs entreated him not to attempt it, 
saying that it was impossible to make two steps 
from the wall and live. Still, however, Napier, 
who was stung by the backwardness of his men, 
dashed back unhurt. His men were crouching 
under the wall ; they had perhaps failed before 
from being out of breath, from their charge up 
the hill with their heavy knapsacks on their 
backs, and still more from the mismanagement 
of the two lieutenants in command cf them. 


250 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

both dull, rude men, tyrannical in their be- 
havior. One, who was noted for fighting duels,, 
was lying down with his face to the ground, 
and when the captain called, shouted to him, 
and bade him remember his uniform, and come 
on with the men, he did not stir, till, in ex- 
tremity of provocation, Napier threw a stone 
at his head. This made him get up and 
scramble over the wall with the men ; but on 
the other side he was wild with terror — eyes 
staring and hands spread out — and when Napier 
ordered the men on to where Dobbs was, and 
ran forward himself, they, under their lieu- 
tenant’s cowardly leading, all edged away to 
the right, out of the fire, and again Napier 
reached his friend alone. 

Maddened at the failure, he again sprang- 
back to lead them, but, ere he could reach them, 
was struck by a bullet in the spine, and fell. 
The French most ungenerously continued to 
fire at him as he lay, and his legs had been 
paralyzed by the effect of his wound, so that 
he could only drag himself by his hands toward 
a heap of stones, behind which he sheltered his 
head and shoulders. No less than twenty shots 
struck the heap in the moment before Captain 
Lloyd with his own company of the 43d, and 
some of the 52d, came up and drove off the 
enemy. Napier was carried away from this 
spot, and laid for a time under an olive-tree, 
while the fight lasted, and the French were 
driven on from ridge to ridge. 

While he was lying there, helpless and ex- 
hausted, the grenadier company of Royal Scots 


CASAL NOVO. 


251 

were hastening forward, and their captain, see- 
ing the wounded man, ran up, and said, “ I 
hope you are not dangerously wounded.” He 
could not speak, but only shook his head ; and 
being asked again, “ Can I be of any service to 
you ? ” made the same sign ; but when Captain 
"Wilson offered him some cold tea and brandy 
from his flask, he raised his head with a sudden 
flash of pleasure, and gladly drank two tum- 
blerfuls ; then thanked with his eyes and hands. 
“ Heaven protect you,” the captain said, and 
hurried on to overtake his men. Napier was a 
singularly handsome, noble-looking man, with 
perfect features, jet-black hair and dark gray 
eyes, and though now deadly pale, the remark- 
ably beautiful outline of his features, and the 
sweet and noble expression of his countenance 
made a great impression on Captain Wilson ; 
but among the numbers of the army, they were 
never again thrown together, and did not know 
each other’s names. 

Napier was thought to be mortally wounded, 
and his brother Charles, who, half-recovered 
from a wound, had ridden ninety miles to join 
the army, met a litter of branches, covered by 
a blanket, and borne by soldiers. He asked 
who it was. “ Captain Napier, of the 52d, — 
broken arm.” Then came another litter — 
“Captain Napier, of the 43d, — mortally 
wounded.” Charles Napier looked at his 
brothers, and passed on to the battle. 

The brothers were placed in a house at Com- 
beixa, but, besides their wounds, they, like alt 
the army, suffered terribly from famine, fo* 


252 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

the French had destroyed everything before 
them, and the villagers themselves were abso- 
lutely starving. A tallow candle that the 
brothers found in the house was eaten up with 
the utmost relish ! By some chance a loaf of 
bread came into, the hands of Captain Light, a 
■cavalry officer, at the end of a long day’s 
march. Hungry as he was, he would not look 
-at it, but mounted again, and rode twenty 
miles to Combeixa, over the mountains, and 
there, fearing a refusal, he flung the loaf into 
the room where the brothers lay, and rode back 
to his regiment. j 

William Napier soon partially recovered, 
but the bullet could never be extracted, and 
■caused him agonies at intervals throughout the 
rest of his life. The story of the combat, which 
he felt as that of his greatest deed, was told by 
him in his great history of the Peninsular war, 
but without a hint of his own concern in the 
matter. Sixteen years after the battle, he met 
at a dinner party a gentleman, who apropos to 
some mention of handsome men, said that the 
very handsomest he had ever seen, was one 
whom he had found lying speechless under an 
olive-tree at Casal Novo, and had succored as 
above described. Sir William Napier sprang 
from his chair, exclaiming, “ My dear Wilson ! 
that was you, — that glass of tea and brandy 
saved my life.” He had already become 
acquainted with Sir John Morilly on Wilson, 
but till that moment neither had known that 
the other was his partner in the adventure of 
the olive-tree. 


THE MAD DOG. 


25 $ 


Assuredly that stony field was a scene to look 
back on from old age with thankful satisfac- 
tion. And no less worthy of honor was, it 
seems to us, that twenty miles ride by the 
hungry, weary officer, to bring his wounded 
comrades the loaf of bread. 


THE MAD DOG. 

1816 . 

Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton was well known 
in the early part of the present century as one 
of the most earnest assistants of William Wil- 
berforce in freeing England from the crimes- 
inseparable from slave-holding. It was not,, 
however, of his public career, nor of his deep 
piety, that we are about to speak, but of one 
incident in his life, which shows how a really 
religious and intrepid man will face a sudden 
and frightful peril for the sake of others. The 
event took place in the summer of 1816 , when 
he was thirty years old, a capital sportsman 
and a man of remarkable personal strength and 
great height (six foot four). He was not as yet 
a baronet, and was at the time living at Hamp- 
stead, and daily riding into Spitalfields to attend 
to the affairs of a brewery in which he was a 
partner During a visit that his wife and 
children were making at a distance, he. had 
been staying with his brother-in-law, Mr. 
Hoare, not far from his home. When his- 


254 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

servant brought his horse to him there, it was 
with the intelligence that his dog, Prince, was 
in a strange state, had killed the cat, almost 
killed another dog, and had tried to bite some 
of the servants. Mr. Buxton desired that the 
creature should be tied up and taken care of, 
and then rode off to his business in town ; but 
as he returned he saw Prince, evidently mad, 
•covered with mud, running furiously and biting 
at everything. 

Mr. Buxton tried to ride him down or drive 
him into some outhouse, but in vain ; and he 
bit at least a dozen dogs, two boys and a man, 
springing at a boy and seizing him by the 
breast, but this time his master was near 
enough to knock him down with his whip. 
He then changed his course, setting off* for 
London, and Mr. Buxton rode by his side, 
waiting for some opportunity of stopping him, 
and constantly calling to him ; but the poor 
animal was past attending to the well-known 
voice, whether coaxing or scolding. He was 
getting near more closely inhabited places, and 
considering the fearful damage he might effect, 
Mr. Buxton thought “if ever there was an 
occasion that justified a risk of life, this was 
it,” and determined to catch him himself. 
Prince ran to a garden-door, and Mr. Buxton, 
leaping from his horse, grasped <Jiim by the 
neck. His struggles were so desperate, that it 
seemed at first almost impossible, even for so 
powerful a man, to hold him (he was evidently 
a large dog) ; but lifting him from the ground, 
lie was more easily managed, and Mr. Buxton 


THE MAD DOG. 


255 


contrived to ring the bell ; but for a long time 
no one came to his help, and being afraid lest 
the foam which was pouring from the poor 
beast’s jaws might get into some scratch on his 
fingers, and be as dangerous as an actual bite, 
he, with great difficulty, held Prince with one 
hand, while he worked the other into the glove 
in his pocket, and then changed hands, and 
thus put on the other glove. At last the gar- 
dener opened the door, and asked what he 
wanted. “ I’ve brought you a mad dog,” was 
the answer; and desiring him to get a strong 
chain, Mr. Buxton walked into the yard carry- 
ing Prince by the neck. He was determined 
not to kill the dog at once, thinking that if it 
should prove not to be a case of hydrophobia, 
it would be a great relief to the persons who 
had been bitten, and this could only be deter- 
mined by letting the disease take its course. 
The gardener was in great terror, but had sense 
■enough to obey directions, and was able to 
secure the collar round the dog’s neck, and 
fasten the other end of the chain to a tree. 
Mr. Buxton then walked to the utmost bound 
of the chain, and with all his force, “ which,” 
he says, “was nearly exhausted by the dog’s 
frantic struggles,” threw the creature as far 
from him as he could, and sprang back in time 
to avoid poor Prince’s desperate bound after 
him, which was followed by “ the most fearful 
yell he ever heard.” ** 

' ''All day the unhappy creature, in the misery 
of that horrible disease to which our faithful 
•companions are sometimes subject, rushed round 


256 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

and round the tree, champing the foam that 
gushed from his jaws, and when food was 
thrown to him, snatched at it with fury, but 
could not eat it. The next day, Mr. Buxton 
thought the chain in danger of giving way, so 
renewing his act of bravery, he obtained a 
stronger chain and a pitchfork. Between the 
prongs of this he contrived to get the dog’s 
body, without piercing it, and thus held him 
pinned down to the ground, while fastening a 
much larger chain round his neck. On the 
pitchfork being removed, the dog sprang up 
and dashed after his master with such violence 
that the old chain snapped in two. However, 
the frenzy soon spent his strength, and he died 
only forty-eight hours after the first symptoms 
of madness had appeared. All the dogs and 
cats he had bitten were killed by Mr. Buxton 
himself, knowing that for such a painful busi- 
ness it was wiser to trust to no one’s resolution 
and humanity but his own. The man and boys 
had the bitten parts cut out and the wounds 
burnt, and it was hoped that the horrid con- 
sequences might be averted from them. He 
himself expressed great thankfulness both for 
his own escape and his children’s absence from 
home, and thus wrote to his wife a day or two 
after; “ What a terrible business it was. You 
must not scold me for the risk I ran. What I 
did, I did from a conviction that it was my 
duty, and I never can think that an over-cau- 
tious care of self in circumstances where your 
risk may preserve others, is so great a virtue as 
you seem to think it. I do believe if I had 


THE MAD DOG. 


257 

shrunk from the danger, and others had suffered 
in consequence, I should have felt more pain 
than I should have done had I received a 
bite.” 

The perfect coolness and presence of mind 
shown in the whole adventure are, perhaps, 
some of its most remarkable features, — all 
being done from no sudden impulse, no daring 
temper, but from the grave, considerate con 
viction of the duty of encountering the peril on 
the part of the person most likely to be able to 
secure others ; and no one who has shuddered 
at the accounts of the agonies of hydrophobia 
can fail to own how deadly that peril was. 

As a pendant to this noble man’s battle 
with a mad dog, let us see a combat between 
one of these frenzied creatures and a French 
weaver, named Simon Albony, a poor man of 
the town of Rhodez, who was the bread-winner 
for his aged father. Coming home from his 
work, in the summer of the year 1830, at about 
seven o’clock in the evening, he encountered a 
mad dog, who had already greatly injured 
several of the townspeople. The creature was 
advancing slowly, but suddenly turned upon 
him. Setting his back against a wall, he cour- 
ageously waited for it, and laid hold of it, 
though not without being severely bitten. He 
kept it with a firm hand, shouting that he 
would not let it go to do further mischief, but 
that some one must bring him an axe, and 
break its back. 

Monsieur Portat, a mounted gendarme, heard 
him, and hastened to his help, found him e'trug- 


258 4 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

gling with this large hound, holding him by the 
neck and ears, and constantly asking for an axe 
to kill him with. The gendarme struck the 
dog with his stick, but it was not strong enough 
to kill it ; and another person came up with a 
heavier club and gave it a finishing stroke. 
Albony had received fourteen wounds on the 
body, thighs and hands ; but they were imme- 
diately operated upon, and at the time his 
name was brought forward, seven months after- 
wards, to receive a prize from the Month- 
yon fund for his heroism, it was hoped 
that the danger of any bad effects had passed 
away. 


o 

THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 

1820. 

The Baron de Monthyon was a French law- 
yer, greatly devoted to all that could do good 
to his fellow-creatures. Little of his personal 
history is known ; but what made his name 
celebrated was the endowments that he left by 
his will at his death, in 1820. The following 
is a translation of certain clauses in his 

• will : — 

* “ 12. I bequeath the sum of 10,000 francs to 
provide an annual prize for whosoever shal) 

. discover any mode of rendering any mechanical 
art less unhealthy. 

“ 13. A like sum of 10,000 francs as an annual 


THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 259 

prize for whosoever shall invent any means 
of perfecting medical science or surgical art. 

“ 14. A like sum of 10,000 francs for an 
annual prize to the poor French person who, in 
the course of the year, shall have performed 
the most virtuous action. 

“15. A like sum of 10,000 francs for the 
French person who shall have composed and 
published in France the book most beneficial 
to morals.” 

The two former prizes to be distributed by 
the Academy of Sciences; the two latter by 
the French Academy. 

Besides these, there were large legacies to 
hospitals. All the prizes, we believe, continue 
to be given ; but it is with the “ Prize of Vir- 
tue,” as it is called, that we alre concerned. 
The French Academy, which is a society of all 
the most distinguished literary personages in 
France, has the office of bestowing this prize, 
which may either be given entire, or divided 
into lesser portions among a number of claim- 
ants, at the option of the Academy. The 
recommendation for such a prize must be sent 
up by the authorities of the town or village 
where it has taken place, and must contain a 
full account of the action itself, attested by 
witnesses, and likewise of the life of the person 
recommended, going back at least two years, 
and countersigned by all the chief persons in 
the place. Those to whom the prize is adjudged 
must appear in person, or by an authorized 
proxy, at the meeting of the Academy, where a 
discourse upon virtue in general is delivered by 


260 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

one of the members, and the meritorious deeds 
to which the prize is awarded are described in 
detail. 

We are not sure that it suits our quieter 
tastes to have “ Golden Deeds ” thus paid for 
in gold ; and we are quite sure that most modest 
folks capable of such actions would much rather 
hide themselves than hear their praises trum- 
peted forth by an Academician. Nevertheless, 
there is something noble in M. de Monthyon’s 
intentions ; and as almost all the “ virtuous 
actions ” were done perfectly irrespective of the 
prize, we cannot but be grateful for having 
had them brought to their knowledge. 

Faithful servants, peasant women devoted to 
charity, and heroic preservers of life, are the 
chief objects selected by the Academy, with 
here and there an instance of extraordinary 
exertions of filial piety ; as for instance, Jeanne 
Parelle, to whom a prize was given in 1835. 

She was one of the eight children of a laborer 
at Coulange, near Montresor, and was born in 
1786. She was in service when, in 1812, her 
mother became paralytic, and she come home 
and thenceforth devoted herself to the care of 
her parents. A few years after, her father had 
a sort of fit, in which his teeth were closely 
locked together, but his mouth filled with 
blood, and he would have been choked but for 
Jeanne’s readiness in forcing them apart with 
her hands, at the cost of being severely bitten. 
The attack came on every night, and as regu- 
larly did Jeanne expose her hands to the 
dreadful bites of her unconscious father, until 


THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 261 

sometimes the flesh was torn almost to the bone, 
and yet she cheerfully went about her work all 
day, endeavoring to prevent her father from 
perceiving her injuries. This lasted ten years, 
during which time the poor people only once 
consulted a doctor, who could do nothing for 
them. The poor old man grew blind, sold his 
little house, and at last died, leaving his wife 
deaf, blind, unable to move from her chair, or 
to do anything but tell her beads. Jeanne 
spun, made hay, and tended her with the utmost 
care and cheerfulness ; but, at length, the 
mother and daughter accepted an invitation 
from an elder married sister to come to Blois. 
They moved accordingly; but the sister was 
unable to do much for them, and they were 
obliged to hire a room, where they were sup- 
ported by Jeanne’s exertions, together with an 
allowance from the Bureau de Charite of three- 
loaves and three pounds of meat in a month. 

Of Jeanne’s patience and sweetness with the 
poor old childish woman, the following testimony 
was given: — One festival-day, Mere Parelle 
wished to go to church, and Jeanne, now a 
hard-working woman of forty-five, made no 
difficulties, but petted and caressed her, prom- 
ising her that she should go ; and on a hot 
August day she was seen with a great arm- 
chair on one arm, and her mother on the other. 
She dragged the old woman three steps, then 
set her down in the chair to rest ; then lifted 
her up, led her a little further, and put the 
chair down again. They were three-quarters of 
an hour ; n going the distance Jeanne would 


262 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

have walked in five minutes ; and after the 
return was effected, Jeanne was full of delight. 
“ Well, dearest, did you say your prayers well ? 
Are you glad ? You are not tired ! ” And 
this laborious journey was cheerfully renewed on 
the old woman’s least wish. Sometimes Jeanne 
was advised to send her to the hospital, the last 
refuge of poverty in France, analogous to a 
workhouse. 

“ It breaks my heart when they say so,” she 
said. 

“ But, Jeanne, your mother would be well 
cared for.” 

“ I know that ; I do not say so from contempt 
for the hospital. She would be taken care of. 
But tenderness, who would give her that?” 
And another time she added, “ God leaves us 
our parents, that we may take care of them. If 
I forsook my poor patient, I should deserve that 
God should forsake me.” 

Jeanne and her mother lived on a ground 
door, and many persons thus had the oppor- 
tunity of observing that her tenderness never 
relaxed. She herself lived on the inferior bread 
provided by the charity, with a few turnips and 
potatoes, whilst she kept her mother on white 
bread, and, if possible, procured butter, cheese, 
and milk for her. Once when the curate had 
sent her a pie, which had been scarcely touched, 
her friends were surprised to see how long it 
lasted. % “ Yes, I make the most of it for my 
mother ; I cut off nice little bits for her at her 
meals, it gives them a relish.” 

“ Do not you eat it, then ? 55 


THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 263 

'It would be a great pity for me to eat it, 
and nibble away her share, poor thing, — it is 
her treat, and she has so few pleasures, poor 
sufferer ! — neither hearing, nor seeing, and 
always in pain.” 

In a great frost, when it was bitterly cold, 
she was found trying to cover her mother with 
an old wornout pelisse, and looking quite mel- 
ancholy, so a good thick woolen wrapper was 
sent to her. On the next visit the old woman 
was found tied up in it, with strings over her 
shoulders, and the daughter beaming with 
delight. “ Bless those who have warmed my 
mother,” she said : “ God will warm them in 
paradise.” 

A pair of old warm flannel sleeves were given 
her for herself, but she was seen again with bare 
arms in the extreme cold. “ Did not the sleeves 
fit you ? ” “ O, I picked them to pieces. My 

mother had pains in her knees, so I sewed the 
flannel on to her under petticoat ; it is warm, 
you see ; she likes it, poor thing.” And there 
the pieces were laid out neatly so as to thicken 
the petticoat. Amid all her infirmities the 
delicate neatness and fresh cleanliness of the 
Mere Parelle were a continual wonder. One 
of the visiting ladies said, “ Really your 
mother looks quite fresh and bright ; ” and the 
good daughter smiled, looking like a young 
mother complimented upon her child’s beauty. 
“You think her so?” she said “Ah, poor 
thing ! she is fresher than I am, for she does 
not drudge so much ; ” and then, with a sigh, 
“ Ah ! if she could but hear me ! ” For the 


264 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDSc 

poor sufferer had at last grown so entirely deaf, 
that she did not hear her daughter at all, and 
was constantly calling Jeanne without knowing 
that she was answered. For two months in the 
winter the daughter had never gone to bed, and 
though her own health began to suffer, she 
never complained. For five-and-twenty years, 
when the prize was given in 1830, had Jeanne 
Parelle been the unwearied nurse and bread- 
winner of first two, then one parent. It seems 
a small thing that man should attempt to 
reward such exertions, yet, on the other hand, 
there is something touching in this hard-handed, 
untaught, toiling, moiling, elderly charwoman 
being chosen out to receive honor due by the 
first men in intellect and position in her coun- 
try, and all for the simple, homely virtues of 
humble life. 

Madame Yigier, a bourgeoise of Aurillac, 
originally in easy circumstances, and at one 
titne rich, was left a widow with four sons, and 
gradually fell into a state of extreme distress. 
Two kind gentlemen, M. Sers, the Prefet of 
Cantal, and M. Az6mard, curate of Notre 
Dame, were interested in the family, and three 
<rf the sons were placed in good situations ; but 
the youngest, Jean, being a particularly clever, 
promising boy, they wished him to receive a 
superior education ; and, finding themselves 
unable, both to keep him at school, and support 
his mother, they decided on sending Madame 
Yigier to the hospital. Jean was at this time 
nine and a-half years old, and at his boarding- 
school, scarcely knew of his mother’s condition. 


THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 265 

Intending to break the matter to him, the curate 
invited him to his house for a holiday, and he 
came in his best clothes ; but just as he had 
arrived M. Azemard was called away for a few 
minutes, and telling the boy not to meddle with 
his breviary, he went down stairs. 

Little Jean was naughty boy enough to be 
incited to meddle by the prohibition itself ! As 
he took up the breviary, out fell a paper. It 
was an order for the hospital, and his mother’s 
name was on it ! The first thing the boy did 
was to run down stairs, and back to the school, 
there to change his clothes for his everyday 
ones. When he re-appeared, the curate said, 
** Ah ! poor child, curiosity led you astray, but 
the fault has brought its own punishment, and 
you have been hiding yourself to cry over it.” 

“No, Monsieur le Cur6, I have not been cry- 
ing. I know it all. My mother shall not go 
to the hospital, she would die of vexation. I 
will not return to school. I will stay with her. 
I will support her.” 

The curate, though struck with his manner, 
tried to reason him out of his resolution, and 
took him to several friends, who represented to 
him that by finishing his education, he would 
enable himself, by and by, to provide far better 
for his mother than if he broke it off at once ; 
but his one idea was to save her from the hos- 
pital, and he was not to be persuaded. He 
consulted his brothers, who were making their 
way in the world, and begged them to assist 
him in maintaining her ; then when they re- 
fused, he asked them at least to lend him a 


206 BOOK OP GOLDEN DEEDS. 

small sum, promising to repay them. Still they 
refused, and all that was left for him to do, was 
to sell his clothes and a watch, that the prefect 
had given him as a reward for some success at 
school. With this capital, the little fellow set 
up as a hawker of cakes and children’s toys, 
and succeeded in earning enough to support 
his mother. At the time his name was brought 
forward for a “ prix de vertu” he had been 
nineteen years solely devoted to her, refusing 
every offer that would separate him from her, 
and making her happy by his attentions. He 
was at that time porter at an inn at Aurillac, a 
situation which must have been a great contrast 
with those which he might have obtained but 
for his love of his mother. 

It may be said, however, that to show “ piety 
at home ” is the very first and most natural of 
duties. Let us pass on, then, to see what 
devoted affection has done where the tie was 
only that of servant to master. 

The faithful statesman of the great Henri 
IV., the Due de Sully, was amply rewarded by 
his grateful master, and left a princely estate to 
his family, but after a few generations the male 
line became extinct, and the heiress named 
Maximilienne de Bethune, after her great 
ancestor, carried the property into the house 
of Aubespine. 

Bad management, together with the reverses 
of the Revolution, gradually destroyed the 
riches of this family, and at last, the Marquis 
d’ Aubespine was obliged to sell the castle of 
Villebon, with all the memorials of the great 


THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 267 

Sully, and the only estate that remained to 
him. Out of the price, he could only sav& 
enough from his creditors to purchase for him- 
self an annuity of 6000 francs, another of 2400* 
francs for his son, and a third of 400 for Alex- 
andre Martin, a servant who had lived with 
him thirty-five years, and had been educated 
at his expense. Soon after the poor old Marquis 
died, and the creditors immediately came down 
upon Martin, and seized his annuity. There 
was no redress, and Martin returned to his 
native village of Champrond-en-Gatinais and 
took up the trade of a carpenter, which he had 
learned at the Marquis’ expense before becom- 
ing his servant. On the sixteenth of June,. 
1830, his cottage door opened, and there stood 
his old master’s son, the Comte d’Aubespine, 
with his three little motherless children, Angel- 
ique, five years old, Josephine, four, and Louis,, 
little more than a year. The Count said that 
his affairs obliged him to leave France for a 
short time, and he had no one to whom to 
intrust his little ones but to good Alexandre. 
The charge was willingly accepted as an honor, 
though the carpenter knew the family secrets- 
too well to wonder that nothing was said about 
paying their expenses, and perhaps he also* 
guessed that this short absence was only to last 
for the Count’s life. 

At any rate he accepted the children. He 
had three of his own, of whom the eldest was- 
able to work. She and her mother earned 
twenty-four sous a day, and he earned thirty, 
and upon this the little count and his sisters 


268 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

were maintained, as far as possible, according 
to their rank. At their meals they were seated 
at the cottage-table, and waited on as respect- 
fully by Martin, as if they had been at the 
grand saloon in the chateau, and he their foot- 
man. He never sat down with them, but kept 
them distinct in all ways from his own children, 
who ate scanty brown bread with him, that the 
little guests might eat white ; wore their coarse 
clothes to rags, that the young d’Aubespines 
might be dressed neatly ; and slept on the floor, 
while the little nobles had comfortable beds. 
There were no murmurs; all came naturally 
out of the grateful loyalty of the family toward 
their master’s grandchildren. No more was 
heard of the father till his death, six years after. 
The news of this event excited the attention of 
the neighborhood, and it became known that 
the last descendants of Sully were growing up 
in the cottage of a poor carpenter, and owing 
their education to the curate of the parish. 
Some ladies at Chartres offered to take charge 
of the two little girls, and though the parting 
was most painful, Martin was glad to enable 
them to be brought up as ladies. As to the 
boy, the first help that came for his education 
was from a charitable foundation, endowed by 
his great ancestor, at Nogent de Rotrou, and 
thus the only portion of the wealth of Sully that 
ever reached his young descendant, was that 
which had been laid up in the true treasure- 
house of charity. Afterward a scholarship 
was presented to him by Louis Philippe at the 
college of Henri IV., and in 1838, he and 


THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 


269 


Alexandre Martin were both present at a 
meeting of the Academy, when a discourse was 
made by M. Salvandi, part of which deserves 
to be recorded. 

“ Martin, your task is over. You have deserved 
well from all good men. You have shown our 
age a sight only too rare, — gratitude, fidelity, 
respect. The Academy awards to your virtue a 
prize of 3000 francs. And you, Louis d’Aubes- 
pine, since you are present at this solemnity, may 
it make a deep and lasting impression on your 
young heart. You are entering life, as persons 
are now and then forced to appear at a later age, 
with all eyes on you. Learn that the first of 
earthly blessing is to be honored by one’s coun- 
try, and pray the God who has watched over 
your infancy to enable you to win that blessing 
that depends on ourselves, and that no event can 
rob us of. One day you will be told that illus- 
trious blood flows in your veins, but never forget 
that you must trace your line as far back as to 
Sully, before you can find a name worthy to 
stand beside that of Martin. Grow up then to 
show yourselves worthy of the memory of your 
ancestor, the devotion of your benefactor, and 
the patronage of the king ! ” 

A maid-servant, called Rose Pasquer, at 
Nantes, during the worst years of the revolu- 
tion, entirely maintained her master and mis- 
tress after they had been ruined by the loss of 
their estates in St. Domingo. She was eighty 
years in the service of the same family, and 
received a prize in her hundredth year, in 
1856. 


270 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Another woman, named Madeleine Blanchet, 
who lost her husband at the end of the first 
year of her marriage, was taken into the service 
•of an old lady at Buzai^ais, called Madame 
dhambert, who put out the widow’s baby to 
nurse, and was very kind to her. In this house, 
Madeleine had been for nine years, when, in the 
winter of 1852, there was a tremendous riot in 
the town, on account of the high price of bread. 
For some time beforehand reports had been 
flying about that the Red Republicans intended 
to rise against all persons of property whom 
they called bourgeois, and there was a story 
that an old man had said, “ I have seen two 
revolutions already, at the third I shall fix my 
scythe crosswise, and then woe to the bourgeois .” 
These rumors filled the town with alarm, and 
certain rich persons were known to be marked 
out for the fury of the mob, and among them 
were Madame Chambert and her son. On the 
night before the affray, their servants received 
n warning that if they tried to defend their 
master and mistress, they would be killed ; but 
there were at least two who disregarded the 
threat, a man-servant named Bourgeau and 
Madeleine Blanchet. 

On the morning of the fourteenth of January 
was heard that sound of dread, — the tocsin. 
The Republicans were already collected, and 
began by sacking a great manufactory, and 
then falling upon the various obnoxious estab- 
lishments in the town, becoming more savage 
with every success. There was no resistance ; 
the citizens shut themselves up in their houses. 


THE MONTH rON PRIZES. 271 

without attempting to unite to defend them- 
selves, and in a short time the whole town was 
at the mercy of the insurgents. After many 
acts of plunder and cruelty had taken place, 
the raging populace came to M. Chambert’s 
house, and speedily breaking in, a man named 
Venin led the way into the drawing-room, 
where M. Chambert was trying to encourage 
his aged mother, and the two servants were 
with them. Madeleine was so much terrified 
that she fainted away upon hearing Venin 
speak insolently to her master ; Bourgeau 
went up to him and knocked him down ; but as 
others of the furious mob came rushing in, 
Bourgeau’s courage forsook him, and he fled. 
His master had fetched his gun, and shot 
Venin, who had risen for another attack ; but 
this was the signal for the whole rage of the 
multitude to be directed against him, and he 
too fled, only to be followed by the savage 
populace, who hunted him from room to room, 
even to the next house, where he fell under a 
multitude of blows, crying out, “ Mercy, 
friends ! ” “You have no friends,” answered 
a voice from the crowd, the last sound that met 
the ears of the dying man. 

Madeleine had, in the meantime, recovered 
from her swoon, recalled by the shrieks and 
sobs of her poor old mistress, mingled with the 
oaths, imprecations, and abusive threats of the 
murderous crowd. She saw the room thronged 
with these wild figures, their blouses stained 
with wine and blood, weapons of all sorts in 
their hands, triumphant fury in their faces. 


272 BOOK OF golden deeds. 

Her first endeavor, on regaining her senses, 
was to push through them to the side of the 
old lady, whom they had not yet personally 
attacked, and whose terror seemed for the 
moment lessened by the sight of her maid’s 
kindly face. Then, as there was no certainty 
that even age and womanhood would long be a 
protection, Madeleine tried to remove her and 
supporting her with one arm, she made her way 
with the other, struggling on through blows, 
pushes, and trampling feet, till she had rather 
carried than led Madame Chambert into the 
court ; but here was the greatest danger of all. 
Seeing the lady escaping, the mob outside fell 
upon her, blows were aimed at the two defence- 
less women, and the mistress fell down, while 
the ruffians rushed at them with cries of 
“ Heath ! death ! ” — the same shouts with 
which they had hunted the son. 

“ Go, — go, my poor girl ! ” faintly murmured 
Madame Chambert. “ I must die here ! Go 
away ! ” 

No, indeed! Madeleine knelt over her, 
calling out, “ You shall not kill my mistress 
till you have killed me ! ” 

A man brandished a cutlass over her, and 
several frantic women struck her, even whilst, 
with outstretched arms, she parried all the 
strokes at her mistress, all the time appealing 
to their better feelings, and showing them the 
cowardly barbarity of thus wreaking their 
vengeance on a helpless old woman. Her 
words, and still more her self-devotion, touched 
two of the men, whose human hearts returned 


THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 273 

to them sufficiently to make them assist her in 
withstanding the ferocity of the rest. They 
helped her to lift up Madame Chambert, and 
guarded her on her way to a friend’s house, 
where a hiding-place was found for the mistress. 
But the maid would not stay there ; she recol- 
lected her mistress’ property, and hurried back 
into the midst of the mob to save all she could, 
seizing on the plate and other valuables when- 
ever she saw them, — sometimes snatching them 
out of the hands of the plunderers, or pouncing 
on their heaps of spoil, — and then, whenever 
she had rescued anything, depositing it in the 
friendly house, and then going back for another 
prize. She continued to go and come for several 
hours, until all that she had not been able to 
save had been entirely destroyed. All this she 
considered as the simplest duty, and mere fulfill- 
ment of her trust as a servant. 

When order was restored, and the rioters 
were tried for their atrocities, she was called in 
as a witness, and asked what she had seen. 
She replied shortly and clearly, but said not a 
word of herself. 

“ But,” said the President, “ witnesses tell us 
that you covered your mistress with your own 
body, and saved her from the blows of the 
murderers. Is it true ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” she answered, quietly. 

“ You were heard to declare, that they should 
kill you before they should kill your mistress. 
Is it true?” 

“ Yes, sir,” again she said ; and that was all, — • 
not a sentence of self-exaltation, or of the false 
modesty of self-depreciation, passed her lips. 


274 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

“ If,” said the President, after hearing all the 
evidence, “there had been twenty men at 
Buzan$ais with the heart of that woman, none 
of the disasters we deplore would have taken 
place.” 

And yet Madeleine had begun by fainting ; 
thus showing how little sensibility of nerves 
has to do with that true moral courage whose 
source is in the soul alone — as the Academician 
said who had the pleasant task of relating her 
exploits, when, at the next meeting of the 
Academy, she received a gold medal, and an 
, extra prize of 5000 francs. 

Almost at the same time there came to light 
an act of generosity, of the most unusual de- 
scription, on the part of a servant, and not 
even toward her own master. Fanny Muller, 
a young girl in one of the semi-German depart- 
ments of France, was betrothed to Jean Pierre 
Wat, a youth in her native village, before they 
parted, in order to go into service, and save 
enough to marry upon. Fanny became a maid 
at a hotel in Paris, and was there much esteemed 
for the modesty and propriety of her conduct. 
In 1830, an Italian officer came to the inn — an 
elderly man, exiled from his country for politi- 
, cal causes, and suffering acutely from a fright- 
ful wound received sixteen years previously, 
when he was serving under Napoleon I. Every 
day Fanny was called in to assist the surgeon 
, in dressing the wound, and her tender heart 
made her a kindly nurse, until the poor soldier 
had exhausted all his means, and the landlord 
was about to turn him out in a state of utter 


THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 275 

destitution. Shocked at his condition, Fanny 
offered him her savings out of her wages of 
thirty-five francs a month, with which he took 
a lodging, and there tried to maintain himself 
by giving music-lessons. He was joined by his 
son, a young boy, but soon after fell so ill again 
that he could no longer give lessons. Fanny 
came again to the rescue ; and when her little 
hoard was exhausted, she borrowed. Just then 
her betrothed, Wat, came to Paris, with his 
savings of 2000 francs, and claimed her promise. 
She told him all, and, wonderful to relate, he 
was a like-minded man ; he freely gave his little 
fortune into her hands to pay the debt, and, 
putting off the marriage, he further assisted 
her in supporting the invalid and the boy. At 
last, after fifteen years of this patient generosity, 
the poor old officer died of the effects of the 
amputation of the injured limb ; and the clergy- 
man of the district, knowing the circumstances, 
recommended the betrothed pair for the Mon- 
thyon prize, as a dowry that might at length 
enable them to enjoy the happiness that they 
had so generously deferred. 

Hosts of other deeds of pure charity and 
beneficence among the poorest of the poor have 
come to light among the records of these prizes. 
Here is a memorial sent in 1823 by the curate 
of the parish of St. Jean and St. Francois, at 
Paris : 

The wife of Jacquemin, a water-carrier, liv- 
ing at No. 17 Rue de Quatre Fils, au Marais, 
father of three children, one aged five years, 
dumb and infirm, only earning from thirty-five 


276 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


to forty sous a day, came, some days ago, to ask 
help for a helpless, indigent woman, maimed of 
two fingers, and incapable of gaining a liveli- 
hood. 

“ Where does the woman live ? ” I asked. 

“ With us.” 

“ How long has she been with you ? ” 

“ Ten months ; this is the eleventh.” 

“What does she pay you by the day or 
month? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“What! nothing?” 

“ Not as much as you could put in your eye.” 

“ Has she relief? ” 

“ Yes ; and so have I. I get bread for my 
children. Since she has been 'tfith us, I weaken 
the porridge, and she eats it with us.” 

“ You have no means of helping others, unless 
she has promised to make it up to you ? ” 

“She never promised me anything but her 
prayers.” 

“ Does not your husband complain ? ” 

“ My husband is a man of few words. He 
says nothing ; he is so kind.” 

“ Does he not go to the public house ? ” 

“ Never ; he works himself to death for his 
children.” 

“ Ten months is a long time.” 

“ She was out in the street, and begged me 
to shelter her for two or three days ; and Jac- 
quemin and I could never have the heart to 
turn her out. He says, besides, that one must 
do as one would be done by.” * 

“ But, my good woman, what is your lodg- 
ing?” 


THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 


277 


“Two rooms.” 

“ What is your rent ? ” 

“ It was a hundred and twenty francs ; but 
it has been raised twenty, which makes eight 
sous a day.” 

“ I think you should be asking charity for 
yourself.” 

“ I have already told you, M. le Cure, that I 
have bread for my children. I ask for nothing 
for myself. Thank God, as long as my husband 
and I can work, I should be ashamed to beg 
for ourselves.” 

“ Well, good woman, here are ten francs 
for — ” 

“ O how happy poor Madame Petrel will 
be!” 

Tears of joy came into this charitable woman’s 
eyes. I had meant the ten francs for herself ; 
but I did not undeceive her — the mistake was 
such an honor to her. 

“ Go and tell the widow Petrel, who owes you 
so much, to get two petitions drawn up : one 
for the Grand Almoner, the other for the 
Prefect, for a place in the hospital. I will 
present them.” 

And the widow was placed in the hospital, 
while the good Jacquemins received a prize. 

There was a more heroic touch in the story 
of Madeleine Saunier, who was born in 1802, 
at St. fitienne de Varenne, in the department 
of the Rhone. This girl had, even when a 
child, sent out to watch cattle in the fields, been 
in the habit of sharing the meals she carried 
out with her with the poor, only begging them 


278 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

to keep the secret. The privations she imposed 
on herself had a serious effect on her health and 
growth ; but still, when she grew up, her whole 
soul was fixed on charity ; and though she had 
to work for her own support, she still contrived 
to effect marvels for others. 

A poor blind widow, with an idiot daughter, 
lived a mile and a half from her cottage ; but 
for fifteen years Madeleine never failed to walk 
to them, to feed them, set their house in order, 
and cheer them up to wait for her coming the 
next day. About as far off in another direction 
was a poor girl in such a horrible state of 
leprosy, that — shocking to relate — her own 
family had abandoned her, and for eighteen 
months she lay in an outhouse, wdiere no one 
came near her but Madeleine Saunier, who 
came twice a day to give her the little nourish- 
ment she could take, and to dress her frightful 
wounds ; and at last she died in the arms of 
this her only friend. 

In 1840, Madeleine was nearly drowned in 
trying to cross a swelling torrent that lay be- 
tween her and one of her daily pensioners, and 
when she was blamed for the rashness, she only 
said, “ I could not help it ; I could not go yes- 
terday ; I was obliged to go to-day.” 

In the course of a cold winter, Madeleine 
was nursing a dying woman named Mancel, 
who lived on the hillside, in a hovel more like 
a wild beast’s den than the home of a human 
creature. Toward the end of a long night, 
Madeleine had lighted a few green sticks to 
endeavor to lessen the intense cold, when the 


THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 279 

miserable door, which was only closed by a 
stone on the floor, was pushed aside, and 
through the smoke, against the snow, the dark 
outline of a wolf was seen, ready to leap into 
the room. All Madeleine could do was to 
spring to the door, and hold it fast, pulling up 
everything she could to keep it shut, as the 
beast bounded against it, while she shouted and 
called in all the tones she could assume, in 
hopes that the wolf would fancy the garrison 
more numerous. Whether he were thus de- 
ceived or not, he was hungry enough to besiege 
her till her strength was nearly exhausted, and 
then took himself off at daylight. 

A few hours after the sick woman died, but 
Madeleine could not bear to leave the poor 
corpse to the mercy of the wolf, and going to 
the nearest cottage implored permission to place 
it there till the burial could take place. Then 
again, over the snow into the wolf-haunted soli- 
tude, back she went ; she took the body on her 
shoulders, and, bending under her burthen, she 
safely brought it to the cottage, where she fell 
on her knees, and thanked God for her safety. 
The next day, the wolf’s footsteps on the snow 
showed that he had spent the night in prowling 
round the hut, and that its frail defence had 
not excluded him from entering it. 

France, with all its faults, has always been - 
distinguished for the pure, disinterested honor 
it shows to high merit for its own sake, and 
Madeleine had already received a testimony of* 
respect from good Queen Amelie, before the 
Monthyon prize was decreed to her. 


280 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

One of the prizes was given to Etienne Lucas, 
a little boy of six and a half, who saw a child 
of two fall into the river Eure. He knew the 
danger, for one of his sisters had lately been 
drowned; but running to the spot, he waded 
about fifteen paces in the stream, caught the 
little one, and drew him to the bank, keeping 
his head carefully above water. But the bank 
was too steep for the little fellow to climb, and 
he could only stand screaming till a man came 
and lifted out both. A gold medal was given 
to him, and a scholarship at an educational 
establishment. Indeed, the rescuers from water, 
from fire, and all the accidents to which human 
life is liable, would be too many to attempt to 
record, and having described a few, we must 
leave our readers to seek the rest for themselves 
in that roll of Golden Deeds, the records of the 
Prix de Vertu . 


THE LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND THE 
MAGPIE. 

1826. 

Among those men who have performed the 
most gallant and self-devoted deeds in the most 
simple and natural way, we should especially 
reckon captains in the navy. With them it is 
an understood rule, that, happen what may, the 
Commanding officer is to be the last to secure 
his own life — the last to leave the ship in 


LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE. 281 

extremity. Many and many a brave life has 
thus been given, but the spirit nurtured by such 
examples is worth infinitely more than even the 
continued service of the persons concerned could 
have been. And for themselves, — this world is 
not all, and have we not read, that “ He who 
will save his life shall lose it, and he who will 
lose his life shall save it ? ” 

The Newfoundland coast is a peculiarly dan- 
gerous one, from the dense fogs that hang over 
the water, caused by the warm waters of the 
Gulf-stream, which, rushing up from the Equa- 
tor, here come in contact with the cold currents 
from the pole, and send up such heavy vapor 
that day can sometimes scarcely be discerned 
from night, and even at little more than arm’s 
length objects cannot be distinguished, while 
from without the mist looks like a thick, sheer 
precipice of snow. 

In such a fearful fog, on the morning of the 
twentieth of June, 1822, the small schooner, 
Drake , struck suddenly upon a rock, and almost 
immediately fell over on her side, the waves break- 
ing over her. Her commander, Captain Baker, 
ordered her masts to be cut away, in hopes of 
lightening her so that she might right herself, 
but in vain. One boat was washed away, an- 
other upset as soon as she was launched, and 
there only remained the small boat called the 
captain’s gig. The ship was fast breaking up, 
and the only hope was that the crew might 
reach a small rock, the point of which could be 
seen above the waves, at a distance that the fog 
made it difficult to calculate, but it was hoped 


282 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

might not be too great. A man named Len- 
nard seized a rope and sprang into the sea, but 
the current was too strong for him, he was car- 
ried away in an opposite direction and was 
obliged to be dragged on board again. Then 
the boatswain, whose name was Turner, volun- 
teered to make the attempt in the gig, taking a 
rope fastened round his body. The crew 
cheered him after the gallant fashion of British 
seamen, though they were all hanging on by 
the ropes to the ship, with the sea breaking 
over them and threatening every moment to 
dash the vessel to pieces. Anxiously they 
watched Turner in his boat, as he made his way 
to within a few feet of the rock. There it was 
lifted high and higher by a huge wave, then 
hurled down on the rock and shattered to 
pieces ; but the brave boatswain was safe, and 
contrived to keep his hold of the rope and to 
scramble upon the stone. 

Another great wave, almost immediately 
after, heaved up the remains of the ship and 
dashed her down close to this rock of safety, 
and Captain Baker, giving up the hope of sav- 
ing her, commanded the crew to leave her and 
make their way to it. For the first time he 
met with disobedience. With one voice they 
refused to leave the wreck unless they saw him 
before them in safety. Calmly he renewed his 
orders, saying that his life was the last and 
least consideration ; and they were obliged to 
obey, leaving the ship in as orderly a man- 
ner as if they were going ashore in harbor. 
But they were so benumbed with cold that 


LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE. 285 

many were unable to climb the rock, and were 
swept off by the waves, among them the lieu- 
tenant. Captain Baker last of all joined his 
crew, and it was then discovered that they were 
at no great distance from the land, but that the 
tide was rising and that the rock on which they 
stood would assuredly be covered at high water,, 
and the heavy mist and lonely coast gave 
scarcely a hope that help would come ere the 
slowly rising waters must devour them. 

Still there was no murmur, and again the 
gallant boatswain, who still held the rope, volun- 
teered to make an effort to save his comrades. 
With a few words of earnest prayer, he secured 
the rope round his waist, struggled hard with 
the waves, and reached the shore, whence he 
sent back the news of his safety by a loud cheer 
to his comrades. 

There was now a line of rope between the 
shore and the rock, just long enough to reach 
from one to the other when held by a man at 
each end. The only hope of safety lay in 
working a desperate passage along this rope to* 
the land. The spray was already beating over 
those who were crouched on the rock, but not a. 
man moved till called by name by Captain 
Baker, and then it is recorded that not one, so* 
summoned, stirred till he had used his best en- 
treaties to the captain to take his place ; but 
the captain had but one reply, — “ I will never 
leave the rock until every soul is safe.” 

Forty-four stout sailors had made their peril- 
ous way to shore. The forty-fifth looked round 
and saw a poor woman lying helpless, almost 


284 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

lifeless, on the rock, unable to move. He took 
her in one arm, and with the other clung to 
the rope. Alas ! the double weight was more 
than the much-tried rope could bear ; it broke 
half-way and the poor woman and the sailor were 
both swallowed in the eddy. Captain Baker 
and three seamen remained, utterly cut off from 
hope or help. The men in best condition hur- 
Tied off in search of help, found a farm-house, 
•obtained a rope and hastened back ; but long 
•ere their arrival the waters had flowed above 
the head of the brave and faithful captain. All 
the crew could do was, with full hearts, to write 
a most touching letter to an officer, who had 
once sailed with them in the Drake , to entreat 
him to represent their captain’s conduct to the 
Lords of the Admiralty. “ In fact,” said the 
letter, “ during the whole business he proved 
himself a man, whose name and last conduct 
ought ever to be held in the highest estimation, 
by a crew who feel it their duty to ask, from 
the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, that 
which they otherwise have not the means of 
obtaining ; that is, a public and lasting record 
of the lion-hearted, generous and very unexam- 
pled way in which our late noble commander 
sacrificed his life, in the evening of the twenty- 
third of June.” This letter was signed by the 
whole surviving crew of the Drake , and in con- 
sequence, a tablet in the dock -yard chapel at 
Portsmouth commemorates the heroism of Cap- 
tain Charles Baker. 

No wonder that the newly-escaped crew, who 
bad watched the grave, resolute face, and heard 


LOSS OF THE DRAKE A:ND MAGPIE. 285 

the calm, firm answers, felt as if such bravery 
were unexampled, and yet — thanks to Him,, 
who braced the hearts of our seamen — it is such 
fortitude as has been repeated again and again 
upon broken ships, and desolate rocks, and 
freezing icebergs, among wild winds and wilder 
waves. 

From the cold fogs of Newfoundland, let u& 
turn to one of the most beautiful of all the 
tracts of old ocean, that of the Caribbean Sea,, 
where the intense blue of the tropical sky is re- 
flected in a sea of still deeper blue, sparkling 
and dimpling under the full power, of the sun- 
beams, and broken by the wooded islands,, 
forming the most exquisite summer scenery in 
the world. 

But these most beautiful of seas are also the 
most treacherous. This is the especial home of 
the hurricane, and of brief, furious squalls, that 
rise almost without warning, except from slight 
indications in the sky, which only an experi- 
enced eye can detect ; and from the sudden 
sinking of the mercury in the barometer ; but 
this often does not take place till so immediately 
before the storm, that there is barely a minute 
in which to prepare a vessel for an encounter 
with this most terrific of her enemies. 

In these seas, in the August of 1826, the little 
schooner Magpie , was cruising, under the com- 
mand of a young lieutenant named Edward 
Smith, in search of a piratical vessel, which had 
for some time been the terror of the western 
shores of the island of Cuba. The 26th had 
a remarkably sultry day, and toward 


286 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

•evening the Magpie lay becalmed off the Colo- 
rados rocks, when, at about eight o’clock, a 
slight breeze sprung up from the west, and the 
sails were spread, but in less than an hour the 
wind shifted to the southward, and a small, dark, 
lurid vapor was seen under the moon. This 
was the well-known signal of coming peril, and 
instantly Mr. Smith was summoned on deck, 
the sails furled, and the vessel made as ready 
as human skill could make her for her deadly 
-encounter. The cloud was rapidly increasing, 
and for a few seconds there was a perfect still- 
ness, till upon this came a rushing, roaring 
sound, distant at first, but, in the space of a 
breath, nearer and nearer ; while the sea, still 
as a lake elsewhere, was before the black wall 
that moved headlong on, lashed into one white 
sheet of foam, flying up like flakes of snow. 
It was upon them ! The lieutenant’s voice was 
heard calling to cut away the masts ; but even 
then the ship was on her side, and in a few 
seconds more she was gone from beneath the 
•crew ! A gunner’s mate, named Meldrum, saw 
for one moment, by the light of a vivid flash of 
lightning, the faces of his comrades struggling 
in the water, then he swam clear of the eddy 
.made by the sinking ship, found something 
•floating, and grasping at it, obtained first one 
■oar and then another. The gust, having done 
its work, had rushed upon its way, and the sea 
was as still and calm as if its late fury had 
been only a dream. 

* Meldrum listened breathlessly for some sign 
of his shipmates, and presently, to his great 


LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE. 287 

relief, heard a voice asking if any one was 
near. It was that of Mr. Smith, who, with six 
more, was clinging to a boat which had floated 
up clear of the ship. So many rushed to her 
in their first joy, that she at once capsized, and 
though all the ship’s company, twenty-four in 
number, were clinging to her, some were stretched 
across the keel, and she was thus of course 
utterly useless except as a float. 

Mr. Smith ordered them all to quit theic 
position, and allow her to be righted. They 
obeyed, and he then placed two in her to bale 
out the water with their hats, directing the 
others to support themselves by hanging round 
the gunwales till the boat could be lightened 
enough to admit them. Just as the bailing had 
commenced, one of the men cried out that he 
saw the fin of a shark, and the horror of becom- 
ing a prey to the monster made the men forget 
everything ; they struggled to get into the boat, 
and upset it again ! Again, however, the lieu- 
tenant’s firmness prevailed, the boat was righted, 
and he bade the men splash the w r ater with 
their legs by way of frightening away the 
enemy. All went on well, and at length the 
boat was able to hold four men — morning had 
come, and hope with it, when at about ten 
o’clock, the cry, “A shark ! a shark ! ” was re- 
newed, and at last fifteen of these creatures 
were among them. Once more, in the panic, 
the boat was overturned, but after the first mo- 
ment, the calm, unflinching voice of Edward 
Smith recalled the men to their resolution ; the 
boat was righted, the two men replaced, and the 


288 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


others still hung outside, where the sharks, at 
first in a playful mood, came rubbing against 
the men, and even passing over the boat. At 
last a cry of agony came from one of the men, 
whose leg had been seized by a shark, and blood 
once tasted, there was little more hope ; yet 
still Smith kept his men steady, as holding by 
the stern, he cheered the balers, and exhorted 
the rest to patience till the boat could safely 
hold them. But the monsters closed on their 
prey ; shriek after shriek and reddening water 
showed when one after another was torn from 
the boat, and at last but six remained, when, as 
the lieutenant looked into the boat for a second, 
he ceased splashing, and at that moment one 
leg was bitten off. Still, in order not to startle 
his men, he endured the anguish without a cry 
or moan, and they were not aware of what had 
happened till the other limb was seized by the 
ravenous teeth, when, with a groan he could 
not repress, his hands quitted their hold. Two 
of the men were in time to grasp him and lift 
him into the boat, and there, mangled and con- 
vulsed with agony as he lay, he still turned his 
whole mind to the safety of his crew. Calling 
to him a lad named Wilson, whom, as the 
youngest and therefore the most sheltered from 
danger, he thought the most likely to survive, 
he desired him to tell the Admiral that he was 
going to Cape Ontario in search of the pirate 
when the disaster occurred. “ Tell him,” he 
added, “ that my men have done their duty, and 
that no blame is attached to them. I have but 
one favor to ask, and that is, that he will pro- 
mote Meldrum to be a gunner.” 


LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE. 289 

He then shook each man by the hand and 
bade him farewell, with a cheering word for all 
as long as he could speak ; but, as the long day 
of burning sun, without food or water, passed 
by, his strength failed, and he had lost the 
power of speech, when at sunset, on another 
alarm of the sharks, a startled movement of 
the men caused the boat to be again upset, and 
his sufferings were ended in the waves. 

The brief, grave records of courts-martial 
speak only of the facts that concern the service, 
and they do not tell us of the one anchor of 
hope that could alone have braced that dying 
sailor’s soul to that unmurmuring patience 
through the anguish, thirst, and heat of that 
tropical day ; but no one can doubt that a man, 
who thought so much of others, so little of him- 
self, whose soul was on his duty, and who bore 
the extremity of agony so long and uncom- 
plainingly, must have been upheld by that which 
alone can give true strength. Indeed, we know 
that Edward Smith was one of the best loved 
and most promising of the sons of a Hampshire 
family, brought up by a widowed mother, and 
that he was especially valued by the Admiral 
on the station, Sir Lawrence Halstead. 

The only officer now left us was a young 
mate named Maclean, who, with the spirit of 
his lieutenant, again persuaded the men to 
right the boat, which was now able to hold 
them all, for only four were left, himself, the 
gunner’s mate, Meldrum, the boy Wilson, and 
one more. Twenty hours of struggling in the 
water, with, latterly, the sun broiling their 


290 BOOK or GOLDEN DEEDS. 

heads, and not a morsel of food nor a drop of 
drink, had however, nearly worn them out ; the 
■oars were lost, and though the approach of 
night rendered the air cooler, yet the darkness 
was unwelcome, as it took away all chance of 
being seen and picked up by some passing vessel. 
At about three o’clock at night, poor young 
Wilson and the other man lost their senses from 
the sufferings they had undergone, and both 
jumped overboard and perished. 

Maclean and Meldrum collected themselves 
after the shock, and steadily continued to bale 
•out the water, till the boat was so nearly dry, 
that they could lie down in her ; and so spent 
were they, that deep sleep came to them both ; 
nor did they wake till the sun was glaring upon 
them far above the horizon. What a waken- 
ing! — alone in a frail boat, their companions 
gone, water all round, and swarming with the 
■cruel sharks, — the sun burning overhead, and 
themselves now thirty-six hours without food, 
and parched with the deadly thirst, which they 
had the resolution not to attempt to slake with 
salt water, well knowing that the momentary 
relief would be followed by worse suffering, 
perhaps by frenzy. They durst not even speak 
to one another, but sat, one in the bow, one in 
the stern, in silent patience, waiting for death. 

Hours passed away in this manner ; but 
toward eight in the morning a white speck was 
seen in the distance, and both opened their 
parched lips to shout “ A sail ! — a sail ! ” They 
shook hands with tears of joy and hope, and 
strained their eyes as the vessel came nearer, 


LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE ^91 

and the dark hull could be seen above the hori- 
zon. Nearer, nearer, — scarcely half a mile from 
them was the vessel, when alas ! she altered her 
course ; she was sailing away. They shouted 
their loudest, and waved their jackets ; but in 
vain, — they were unseen, and were being left 
to perish ! 

The gunner’s mate now rose up. He was the 
elder and the stronger man, and he quietly 
announced his intention of swimming to the 
vessel. It was a long, fearfully long distance 
for a man fasting for so many hours ; and more 
terrible still than drowning was the other danger 
that was hidden under the golden ripples of 
those blue waters. But to remain was certain 
death to both, and this attempt gave the one 
last hope. The brave man gave his last wishes 
in charge to his officer, made the one entreaty, 
that if Mr. Maclean saw a shark in pursuit, he 
would not let him know, shook hands, and, with 
a brief prayer for the protection of the Almighty, 
sprang overboard. 

Maclean was strongly tempted to swim with 
this last companion, but conquered the impulse 
as only leading to a needless peril, cheered, and 
waved his jacket. Once he thought he saw the 
fin of a shark, and made a splashing, in hopes 
of scaring it from the pursuit, then watched the 
swimmer with earnest hope. Meldrum swam, 
straining every nerve, splashing as he went to 
keep away the sharks, and shouting, but no one 
appeared on deck ; and when he had accom- 
plished about two-thirds of the way, his strength 
failed him, and he was about to resign himself 


292 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

to float motionless, an easy prey to the sharks, 
when a head was seen in the vessel. He raised 
his arms, jumped himself up in the water, and 
was seen ! The brig was hove-to, a boat was 
put out, and he was taken into it, still able to 
speak and point the way to his companion. 

The brig was American ; and, at first, the 
history of the last day and night was thought 
so incredible, and the destitute pair were taken 
for escaped pirates ; but they were, at last, set 
on shore at Havanna, and thence conveyed to 
Port Royal by the first man-of-war that touched 
there. 

At the court-martial held by Sir Lawrence 
Halstead these facts came out. Meldrum could 
not be prevailed on to tell his own story ; but 
when his young officer had related it, both 
burst into tears, and embraced before the court. 
Not an officer present but was deeply affected ; 
and Meldrum was, of course, at once promoted, 
according to the dying request of Lieutenant 
Smith. He died in the year 1848, but the 
name of the Magpie schooner will ever remain 
connected with the memory of undaunted reso- 
lution and unwearied patience. 


THE CHIEFTAINESS AND THE VOLCANO. 293 


THE CHIEFTAINESS AND THE 
VOLCANO. 

1825. 

Few regions in the world are more beautiful 
than those islands far away in the Pacific 
which we have been used to call the Sandwich 
Isles. They are in great part formed by the 
busy little coral worms, but in the midst of 
them are lofty mountains, thrown up by the 
wonderful power that we call volcanic. In sail- 
ing up to the islands the first thing that becomes 
visible are two lofty peaks, each two miles and 
a half high. One is white with perpetual 
snow, the other is dark, — dark with lava and 
cinders, on which the inward heat will not per- 
mit the snow to cast a white mantle. The first 
of these has been tranquil for many years, the 
other is the largest and most terrible active vol- 
cano in the world, and is named Kilauea. The 
enormous crater is a lake of liquid fire, from 
six to nine miles in circumference. Over it 
plays a continual vapor, which hangs by day 
like a silvery cloud, but at dusk is red and 
glowing like the Aurora Borealis, and in the 
night is as a forest in flames. Rising into this 
lurid atmosphere are two black cones, in the 
midst of a sea of fused lava, in which black 
and pink rocks are tossed wildly about as in a 
seething cauldron. The edge of this huge basin 
of burning matter is a ledge of hard lava. 


294 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

above which rises a mighty wall of scoria or 
cinder ; in one place forming an abrupt preci- 
pice, 4000 feet high, but in others capable of 
being descended, by perilous paths, by those 
tyho desire to have a closer view of the lake 
of flame within. Upon the bushes that grow 
on the mountain-top is found a curious fibrous- 
substance formed by the action of the air 
upon the vapor rising from the molten minerals 
beneath ; is like cobwebs of spun glass. Tre- 
mendous is the scene at all times, but at the 
periods of eruption, the terrific majesty is 
beyond all imagination, when rivers of boiling 
lava, blood-red with heat, rush down the moun- 
tain-side, forming cascades of living fire, or 
spreading destruction over the plains, and when 
reaching the sea, struggling, roars, thundering, 
in bubbling flames and dense smoke for the 
mastery with the other element. 

Heathen nations living among such wonder- 
ful appearances of nature cannot fail to connect 
them with divine beings. The very name of 
volcano testifies to the old classical fancy that 
the burning hills of the Mediterranean were 
the workshops of the armorer god Vulcan and 
his Cyclops ; and in the Sandwich Islands, the 
terrible Kilauea was supposed to be the home 
of the goddess Pele, whose bath was in the 
mighty crater, and whose hair was supposed to- 
be the glossy threads that covered the hills. 
Fierce goddess as she was, she permitted ne 
woman to touch the verge of her mountain, 
and her wrath might involve the whole island 
in fiery destruction. 


THE CHIEFTAINESS AND THE VOLCANO. 295 

At length however, the islanders were de- 
livered from their bondage of terror into a. 
clearer light. Missionaries came among them,, 
and intercourse with Europeans made them- 
ashamed of their own superstitious fancies. 
Very gradually the faith of the people de- 
tached itself from the savage deities they had 
worshiped, and they began to revere the One* 
true Maker of heaven and earth. But still 
their superstitions hung around Kilauea. There- 
the fiery goddess still reveled in her fearful 
gambols, there the terrible sights and sounds,, 
and the desolating streams that might at any 
moment burst from her reservoir of lame were- 
as tokens of anger that the nation feared to- 
provoke. And after the young King Liho- 
liho, with all his court, had made up their 
minds to abandon their idols, give up their 
abominable practices, and seek instruction front 
Christian teachers, still the priests of Pele, 
on her flaming mountain, kept their strong- 
hold of heathenism, and threatened her wrath 
upon those who should forsake the ancient 
worship. 

Then it was that a brave Christian woman, 
strong in faith and courage, resolved to defy 
the goddess in her fastness, and break the spell 
that bound the trembling people to her wor- 
ship. Her name was Kapiolani, wife of Naihe, 
the public orator of Hawaii. There was no- 
common trust and resolution needed to enable- 
her to carry out her undertaking. Not only* 
was she outraging the old notions that fearful 
consequences must follow the transgression of 


296 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

the tabu , or setting apart. Not only was the 
ascent toilsome, and leading into cold regions, 
which were dreadful to a delicate Hawaiian, 
but the actual danger of the ascent was great. 
Wild crags, and slippery sheets of lava, or 
slopes of crumbling cinders, were strangers to 
the feet of the tender coast-bred woman. And 
the heated soil, the groanings, the lurid atmos- 
phere, the vapor that oozed up from the crevi- 
ces of the half-cooled lava, must have filled 
any mind with awe and terror, above all, one 
that had been bred up in the faith that these 
were the tokens of the fury of a vindictive 
and powerful deity, whose precincts she was 
transgressing. Very recently a large body of 
men had been suffocated on the mountain-side 
by the mephitic gases of the volcano — struck 
dead, as it must have seemed, by the breath of 
the goddess. 

But Kapiolani, strong in the faith that He, 
as whose champion she came, was all-sufficient 
to guard her from the perils she confronted, 
'climbed resolutely on, bearing in her hand the 
sacred berries which it was sacrilege for one of 
her sex to touch. The enraged priests of Pele 
came forth from their sanctuary among the 
crags, and endeavored to bar her way with 
threats of the rage of their mistress ; but she 
heeded them not. She made her way to the 
summit, and gazed into the fiery gulf below, 
then descended the side of the terrible crater, 
even to the margin of the boiling sea of fire, 
and hurling into it the sacred berries, ex- 
claimed : “ If I perish by the anger of Pele 


THE RESCUERS. 


2\)7 

then dread her power ; but, behold, I defy her 
wrath. I have broken her tabus ; I live and 
am safe, for Jehovah the Almighty is my God. 
His was the breath that kindled these flames ; 
His is the hand which restrains their fury ! O, 
all ye people, behold how vain are the gods of 
Hawaii, and turn and serve the Lord ! ” 

Safely the brave woman descended the 
mountain, having won her cause, the cause of 
Faith. 

In classic times, the philospher Empedocles 
had leapt into the burning crater of Mount 
Etna, thereby to obtain an imperishable name. 
How much more noble is the name that Kapio- 
lani gained for herself, by the deed that 
showed forth at whose command alone it is that 
the mountains quake and flow down, and the 
hills melt like wax ! 


o 

THE RESCUERS. 

We have had a glimpse of the horrors on 
board a wrecked ship, and the resolution with 
which they can be endured and conquered. 
Let us now look at the shore, and at the spirit 
that has prompted even women to become their 
rescuers. 

Here, then, is a portion of a “ Night Scene by 
the Sea,” namely, the dangerous coast near Cro- 
mer, in the county of Norfolk. It was taken 
from a poem by Joanna Baillie, and is literally 
and exactly true. There amid 


298 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

“ The roar of winds and waves 
As strong contention loudly raves, 

A fearful sound of fearful commotion, 

The many angry voices of the ocean,” 

the foremost in affording aid to the shipwrecked 
seamen was a crippled lady, 

“ One with limbs nerve-bound, 
Whose feet had never touched the ground. 
Who loves in tomes of Runic lore 
To scan the curious tales of yore, 

Of gods and heroes dimly wild, 

And hath intently oft beguiled 
Her passing hours with mystic rhymes, 
Legends by bards rehearsed of other times ; 
Learned, and loving learning well, 

For college hall or cloistered cell 
A student meet, yet all the while 
As meet, with repartee or smile, 

’Mid easy converse, polished, blithe and boon. 
To join the circles of a gay saloon ; 

From childhood reared in wealth and ease, 
The daily care herself to please, — 

For selfish nature here below 
A dangerous state, I trow.” 

That crippled lady was Anna Gurney, one of 
a gifted family, surpassing them perhaps in 
mental powers and attainments, certainly not 
inferior to any in Christian benevolence, and 
(which is the strangest thing of all) absolutely 
more than a match for the soundest and healthi- 
est among them in personal activity, though 
unable through her whole life to stand or move 


THE RESCUERS. 


299> 

without mechanical aid. Her intellect was of 
the highest order. After learning all the more- 
accessible languages, she betook herself to the 
ancient Teutonic branches, and in 1819 trans- 
lated the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. As invalid 
and as scholar, she would, as the verses above 
quoted observe, have seemed in especial danger 
of dwelling on nothing beyond her own con- 
stant and severe sufferings, and the studies that 
beguiled her attention from them. 

Yet she was full of the warmest, brightest 
sympathy. Her conversation was not only de- 
lightful from her brilliant powers, but from her 
ready perception of the wants and wishes of 
others. Not only was her wheeled chair pro- 
pelled in a moment to her book-shelves when- 
she wanted a volume to illustrate her thought,, 
but the moment she caught a friend’s eye in 
search of any article at a little distance, her 
chair was turned in that direction, and the ob- 
ject was presented with infinite grace. She 
made young people exceedingly fond of her* 
and delighted to assist them in their studies. 
She would help boys to prepare their Greek and 
Latin tasks with infinite zest, and would enliven 
a lesson with comical and original allusions. 
Other children of a lower rank were also taught 
by her, and from her home at North-Repps 
Cottage, she won, by her kindness and helpful- 
ness, the strongest influence over the fisherfolk 
upon the coast, who looked upon her as a 
superior being. 

At her own expense she procured a life-boat 
and apparatus for rescuing the shipwrecked* 


300 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

and to secure the right use of these, she would 
be wheeled down to the shore in her chair, to 
give orders and superintend their execution. 
Surely there can be no more noble picture than 
this infirm woman, constantly in pain, whose 
right it would have seemed to be shielded from 
a rough blast or the very knowledge of suffer- 
ing, coming forth in the dead of night, amid 
the howling storm, beating spray, and drench- 
ing rain, to direct and inspirit its rugged, sea- 
faring men, and send them on errands of life 
or death. Which was most marvelous, it is 
hard to say, the force of will that actuated her, 
or the force of understanding that gave value 
to such presence and commands. 

Truly may Miss Baillie say : — 

41 But no, my words her words may not express, 
Their generous import your own hearts must 
guess.” 

And when half-drowned sailors were brought 
ashore, she remained to give care and directions 
for their treatment, or took them to her own 
home, where they were so welcomed, that it was 
a saying on the coast that it was worth while 
to be wrecked to be received by Miss Gurney. 

The lady returns to her home again, 

With the sounds of blessings in her ear, 

From young and old, her heart to cheer ; 
Sweet thoughts within her secret soul to 
cherish, 

The blessings of those who were ready to 


THE RESCUERS. 301 

And there lays her down on her peaceful 
pillow, 

Blessed by the Lord of the wind and the billow.” 

When, at the age of sixty -one, she laid her 
down on her last pillow, she was carried to her 
rest, in the seaside church of Overstrand, by 
old fishermen, — rugged, loving men, who knew 
and valued her, — and when they had lowered 
the coffin down the stone steps of the open 
Vault, they formed a knot at the foot and wept 
bitterly. More than a thousand persons from 
the coast had gathered to show their respect and 
gratitude ; most were in mourning, many in 
tears. “ I never,” said one who was present, 
“saw so many men weeping at one time, it 
seemed a general wail.” The service was read 
by the clergyman of the parish (who could not 
but feel that he had lost his most precious 
earthly helper) simply and calmly ; with cheer- 
ful brightness, which showed that his faith had 
realized her gain, he gave thanks for her. 

The cripple gave what she had, — her vigor- 
ous mind, her means, and her spirit. Let us 
turn to one who had neither silver nor gold, 
nothing but her resolute heart and brave, skil- 
ful hands. Grace Darling, the daughter of the 
keeper of one of the light-houses upon the 
Fern Islands, a perilous cluster of rocks off St. 
Abb’s Head, was wakened toward the morning 
of the sixth of September, 1838, by shrieks of 
distress ; and when dawn came, perceived the 
remains of a wreck upon Longstone Island, the 
outermost of the g T ^ 


302 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Grace awoke her father and urged him to 
launch his boat and go to the rescue of anyone who 
anight still be alive in the stranded vessel, but the 
tide was rising, wind and sea were wild, and the 
old man hung back. Grace, however, was sure 
that she discerned a movement on the wreck, as 
though living beings were still there, and seizing 
:an oar, placed herself in the boat, which she was 
■well able to manage. Her father could not let 
lier go alone, and they rowed off together in 
tremendous sea, encouraged by perceiving that 
oiine persons were still clinging to the forepart 
of the ship. The father, after many vain at- 
tempts, succeeded in landing on the rock, and 
unaking his way to the wreck, while Grace 
j-owed off and on among the breakers, dexter- 
ously guiding her little boat, which but for her 
•excellent management would have been dashed 
to pieces against the rocks. 

One by one with the utmost care and skill, 
the nine survivors were placed in the boat and 
-carried to the light-house, where Grace lodged, 
Ted and nursed them for two whole days before 
the storm abated enough for communication 
with the mainland. One of them was a Mrs. 
Dawson, whose two children, of eleven and eight 
years old, had actually been buffeted to death 
by the waves while she held them in her arms, 
and who w T as so much injured herself that it was 
long before she could leave her bed. 

The vessel was the Forfarshire , a large steamer 
plying between Hull and Dundee. Her boilers 
had been out of order, their leakage had ren- 
dered the engines useless, and when the storm 


THE RESCUE PARTY. 


303 


arose, the ship was unmanageable without her 
steam, and was driven helplessly upon the Fern 
Islands. The only boat had been lowered by 
eight of the sailors, who were pushing off in 
her, when one gentleman rushed on deck, 
seized a rope and swung himself in after 
them. These nine were picked up by a sloop 
and saved. Of the others, the whole num- 
ber had either been drowned in their berths or 
washed off the wreck, except four of the crew 
and five passengers, whom Grace Darling’s 
valor had rescued. The entire amount of the 
lost was not known, but more than forty had 
certainly gone on board at Hull. Some sailors 
at Sunderland went out to the wreck during the 
storm, at the peril of their lives, but found only 
corpses to bring away. Grace’s noble conduct 
rang throughout England, and every testimo- 
nial that could be offered was sent to her. We 
believe that this brave girl soon after died of 
decline. 


THE RESCUE PARTY. 


1853. 


The Arctic seas have been the scene of some 
of the most noted instances of daring and 
patience shown by mariners. Ever since the 
reign of Edward VI., when the brave Sir 
Hugh Willoughby and his crew all perished, 
frozen at their posts among the rocks of Spitz- 
bergen, the relentless ice, and soft, though fatal 


304 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

snows of those dreary realms, have formed thje 
grave of many a gallant sailor. Many a life 
has been lost in the attempt to discover the 
Northwest passage, between Davis and Beh- 
ring Straits, and to trace the outline of the 
northern coast of America. Whether those 
lives were wasted, or whether their brave 
example was not worth more to the world than 
a few years more of continuance, is not the 
question here to be asked. The latter Arctic 
voyagers had a nobler purpose than that of 
completing the survey of the barren coast, 
namely, the search for Sir John Franklin, who, 
in 1845, had gone forth with two tried vessels, 
the Erebus and Terror , on his second polar 
expedition, and had been seen and heard of 
no more. 

Voyage after voyage was undertaken, in the 
hope at first of relieving and rescuing the lost 
ships’ companies, and then of ascertaining the 
fate, until the Admiralty decided that to send 
forth more exploring parties was a vain risking 
of valuable lives, and it was only the earnest 
perseverance of Sir John Franklin’s wife and 
the chivalrous adventure of individuals that 
carried on the search, until, at the end of 
fourteen years, Captain, now Sir Leopold 
M’Clintock, in the Fox yacht, discovered the 
last records, which placed it beyond all doubt 
that the gentle and courageous Franklin had 
died peacefully, before evil days had come on 
his party, and that the rest had more gradually 
perished under cold and hunger in the fearful 
orison of icebergs. 


THE RESCUE PARTY. 


305 


Gallant and resolute as were all these north- 
ern travelers, there are two names that perhaps 
deserve, above all others, to be recorded, 
because their free offer of themselves was not 
prompted by the common tie of country. One 
was the French Lieutenant Bellot, who sailed 
in the Albert in 1851, and after most manful 
exertions, which gained the respect and love of 
all who sailed with him, was drowned by the 
breaking of the ice in Wellington Sound. The 
other was Dr. Elisha K. Kane, an American 
naval surgeon, who in 1853 volunteered to 
command an American expedition in search of 
the lost vessels, which some supposed to be 
shut up by the ice in a basin of clearer, warmer 
water, such as it was thought might exist round 
the North Pole, and the way to which might 
be opened or closed, according to the shifting 
of the icebergs. 

His vessel was the brig Advance, and his course 
was directed through Davis’ Straits, and on the 
way past the Danish settlements in Greenland, 
they provided themselves w T ith a partially edu- 
cated young Esquimaux as a hunter, and with a 
team of dogs, which were to be used in drawing 
sledges over the ice in explorations. 

The whole expedition was one Golden Deed, 
but there is not space to describe it in all its- 
details : we must confine ourselves to the most 
striking episode in their adventures, hoping 
that it may send our readers to the book itself* 
The ship was brought to a standstill in Ren- 
fealner Bay, on the west side of Smith’s Strait, 
between the 79th and 80th degrees of latitude* 


306 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

It was only the 10th of September when the ice 
■closed in so as to render further progress of the 
ship impossible. On the 7th of November the 
sun was seen for the last time, and darkness set 
in for 141 days, — such darkness at times as was 
misery even to the dogs, who used to contend with 
■one another for the power of lying within sight 
of the crack of light under the cabin door. 

Before the light failed, however, Dr. Kane 
had sent out parties to make caches, or stores 
of provisions, at various intervals. These were 
to be used by the exploring companies whom 
tie proposed to send out in sledges, while the 
ice was still unbroken, in hopes of thus discov- 
ering the way to the Polynia, or polar basin, in 
which he thought Franklin might be shut up. 
The same work was resumed with the first 
gleams of returning light in early spring, and 
on the 18th of March a sledge was dispatched 
with eight men to arrange one of these depots 
for further use. Toward midnight on the 
29th, Dr. Kane and those who had remained 
in the ship, were sewing moccasins in their 
warm cabin by lamplight, when steps were 
heard above, and down came three of the absent 
ones, staggering, swollen, haggard and scarcely 
able to speak. Four of their companions were 
lying under their tent frozen and disabled, 
*“ somewhere among the hummocks, — to the 
•north and east it was drifting heavily. ,, A 
brave Irishman, Thomas Hickey, had remained 
at the peril of his life to feed them, and these 
three had set out to try to obtain aid, but they 
were so utterly exhausted and bewildered that 


THE RESCUE PARTY. 


307 

they could hardly be restored sufficiently to 
explain themselves. 

Instantly to set out to the rescue was, of 
eourse, Dr. Kane’s first thought, and as soon as 
the facts had been ascertained, a sledge, a small 
tent, and some pemmican, or pounded and 
spiced meat, were packed up ; Mr. Ohlsen, who 
was the least disabled of the sufferers, was put 
into a fur bag, with his legs rolled up in dog 
skins and eider-down and strapped upon the 
sledge, in the hope that he would serve as a 
guide, and nine men, with Dr. Kane, set forth 
across the ice in cold seventy-eight degrees 
below the freezing point. 

Mr. Ohlsen, who had not slept for fifty 
hours, dropped asleep as soon as the sledge 
began to move, and thus he continued for six- 
teen hours, during which the ten proceeded 
with some knowledge of their course, since 
huge icebergs of noted forms, stretching in 
long beaded lines ” across the bay, served as a 
sort of guide-posts. But just when they had 
come beyond their knowledge, except that their 
missing comrades must be somewhere within 
forty miles round, he awoke, evidently delirious 
and perfectly useless. Presently they came to 
a long, level floe, or field of ice, and Dr. Kane, 
thinking it might have been attractive to weary 
men unable to stagger over the wild hummocks 
and rugged surface of the other parts, decided 
to search it thoroughly. He left the sledge, 
raised the tent, buried the pemmican, and took 
poor Ohlsen out of his bag, as he was just able 
to keep his bag and the thermometer had sunk 


308 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

three degrees lower, so that to halt would have 
been certain death. The thirst was dreadful, 
for there was no waiting to melt the snow, and 
in such a temperature, if it be not thawed 
before touching the mouth, it burns like caus- 
tic, and leaves the lips and tongue bleeding. 
The men were ordered to spread themselves, so 
as to search completely ; but though they 
readily obeyed, they could not help continually 
closing up together, either, Dr. Kane thought, 
from getting bewildered by the forms of the 
ice, or from the invincible awe and dread of 
solitude, acting on their shattered nerves in 
that vast field of intense lonely whiteness and 
in the atmosphere of deadly cold. The two 
strongest were seized with shortness of breath 
and trembling fits, and Dr. Kane himself 
fainted twice on the snow. Thus they had 
spent two hours, having been nearly eighteen 
without water or food, when Hans, their Esqui- 
maux hunter, thought he saw a sledge track in 
the snow, and though there was still a doubt 
whether it were not a mere rift made by the 
wind, they followed it for another hour, till at 
length they beheld the stars and stripes of the 
American flag fluttering on a hummock of 
snow, and close behind it was the tent of the 
lost. 

Dr. Kane was among the last to come up ; 
his men were all standing in file beside the 
tent, waiting in a sort of awe for him to be the 
first to enter it and see whether their messmates 
still lived. He crawled into the darkness, and 
heard a burst of welcome from four poor, helpless 


THE RESCUE PARTY. 


309 

figures lying stretched on their backs. “We 
•expected you ! We were sure you would come ! ” 
and then burst out a hearty cheer outside, and 
for the first time Dr. Kane was well nigh over- 
come by strong feeling. 

Here were fifteen souls in all to be brought 
back to the ship. The newcomers had traveled 
without rest for twenty-one hours, and the tent 
would barely hold eight men, while outside, 
motion was the only means of sustaining life. 
By turns, then, the rescue party took two hours 
of sleep each, while those who remained awake 
paced the snow outside, and food having been 
taken, the homeward journey began, but not 
till all the sick had been undressed, rubbed and 
newly packed in double buffalo skins, in which 
— having had each limb swathed in reindeer 
skins — they were laid on their own sledges, and 
sewn up in one huge bale, with an opening over 
each mouth for breathing. This took four 
hours, and gave almost all the rescuers frost- 
bitten fingers, and then, all hands standing 
round, a prayer was said, and the ten set out 
to drag the four in their sledges over ice and 
snow, now in ridges, now in hummocks, up and 
down, hard and wild beyond conception. Ohl- 
sen was sufficiently restored to walk, and all 
went cheerfully for about six hours, when every 
•one became sensible of a sudden failure of their 
powers. 

“Bonsall and Morton, two of our stoutest 
men, came to me, begging permission to sleep ; 
they were not cold, the wind did not enter them 
now, a little sleep was all that they wanted. 


310 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

Presently Hans was found nearly stiff under a 
drift, and Thomas, bolt upright, had his eyes- 
closed and could hardly articulate. At last 
John Blake threw himself on the snow, and 
refused to rise. They did not complain of 
feeling cold ; but it was in vain that I wrestled, 
boxed, ran, argued, jeered or reprimanded, an 
immediate halt could not be avoided.” So the 
tent was pitched again with much difficulty, 
for their hands were too powerless to strike a 
light, and even the whisky, which had been put 
under all the coverings of the sledge at the 
men’s feet, was frozen. Into the tent all the 
sick and failing were put, and James M’Gary 
was left in charge of them, with orders to come 
on after a halt of four hours, while Dr. Kane 
and William Godfrey pushed on ahead, mean- 
ing to reach the tent that had been left half- 
way, and thaw some food by the time the rest 
came up. 

Happily, they were on a level tract of ice,, 
for they could hardly have contended with 
difficulties in the nine miles they had still to 
go to this tent. They were neither of them in 
their right senses, but had resolution enough to 
keep moving, and imposing on one another a 
continued utterance of words ; but they lost all 
count of time, and could only remember having 
seen a bear walking leisurely along, and tearing 
up a fur garment that had been dropped the 
day before. The beast rolled it into a ball, but 
took no notice of them, and they proceeded 
steadily, so “drunken with cold,” that they 
hardly had power to care for the sight of their 


THE RESCUE PARTY. 311 

half-way tent undergoing the same fate. How- 
ever, their approach frightened away the bear,, 
after it had done no worse than overthrowing 
the tent. The exhausted pair raised it with 
much difficulty, crawled in, and slept for three- 
hours. When they awoke. Dr. Kane’s beard 
was frozen so fast to the buffalo skin over him,, 
that Godfrey had to cut him out with his jack- 
knife ; but they had recovered their faculties* 
and had time to make a fire, thaw some ice, 
and make some soup with the pemmican, before 
the rest of the party arrived. 

After having given them this refreshment, 
the last stage of the journey began, and the 
most severe ; for the ice was wild and rough, 
and exhaustion was leading to the most griev- 
ous of losses, — that of self-control. In their 
thirst, some could no longer abstain from eating 
snow, — their mouths swelled, and they became 
speechless ; and all were overpowered by the 
deadly sleep of cold, dropping torpid upon the 
snow. But Dr. Kane found that, when roused 
by force at the end of three minutes, these 
snatches of sleep did them good, and each in 
turn was allowed to sit on the runners of the 
sledge, watched, and awakened. The day was- 
without wind and sunshiny, otherwise they 
must have perished ; for the whole became so 
nearly delirious, that they retained no recollec- 
tion of their proceedings; they only traced 
their course afterward by their footmarks. But 
when perception and memory were lost, obedi- 
ence and self-devotion lived on, — still these 
hungry, frost-bitten, senseless men tugged at 


312 BOOK OF GOLDEN J/EEDS. 

the sledge that bore their comrades, — still held 
together, and obeyed their leader, who after- 
ward continued the soundest of the party. One 
was sent staggering forward, and was proved 
by the marks in the snow to have repeatedly 
fallen ; but he reached the brig safely, and was 
capable of repeating with perfect accuracy the 
messages Dr. Kane had charged him with for 
the surgeon. 

A dog-team, with a sledge and some restora- 
tives, was at once sent out to meet the others, 
with the surgeon, Dr. Hayes, who was shocked 
at the condition in which he encountered them, — 
four lying, sewn up in furs, on the sledge, which 
the other ten were drawing. These ten, three 
days since, hardy, vigorous men, were covered 
with frost, feeble and bent. They gave not a 
glance of recognition, but only a mere vacant, 
wild stare, and still staggered on, every one of 
them delirious. It was one o’clock in the 
afternoon of the third day that they arrived, 
after sixty-six hours’ exposure, during which 
they had been almost constantly on foot. Most 
cf those who still kept their footing stumbled 
straight on, as if they saw and heard nothing, 
till they came to the ship’s side, where, on Dr. 
Kane giving the word to halt, they dropped 
the lines, mounted the ship’s side, and each 
made straight for his own bed, where he rolled 
in, just as he was, in all his icy furs, and fell 
into a heavy sleep. 

There were only the seven who had been left 
with the ship (five of them being invalids) to 
carry up the four helpless ones, and attend to 


THE RESCUE PARTY. 


313 


all the rest. Dr. Kane, indeed, retained his 
faculties, assisted in carrying them in, and saw 
them attended to ; after which he lay down in 
his cot, but, after an hour or two, he shouted, 
** Halloo, on deck there ! ” and when Dr. Hayes 
came to him, he gave orders “ to call all hands 
to lay aft, and take two reefs in the stove-pipe!” 
In like manner, each of the party, as he awoke, 
began to rave ; and for two days the ship was 
an absolute madhouse, the greater part of its 
inmates frantic in their several cots. Dr. Kane 
was the first to recover, — Ohlsen the last, his 
mind constantly running upon the search for 
his comrades in the tent, which he thought 
himself the only person able to discover. Of 
those whom the party had gone to assist, good 
“ Irish Tom ” soon recovered ; but two died in 
the course of a few days, and the rest suffered 
v 



adventures cannot 


here be told; suffice it to say, that his ship 
remained immovable, and, after a second winter 
of terrible suffering from the diseases induced 
by the want of fresh meat and vegetables, — the 
place of which, was ill-supplied by rats, puppies 
and scurvy-grass, — it was decided to take to 
the boats ; and, between these and sledges, the 
ship’s company of the Advance , at last, found 
their way to Greenland, after so long a seclusion 
from all European news, that, when first they 
heard of the Crimean war, they thought an 
alliance between England and France a mere 
hallucination of their ignorant informant. Dr. 
Kane, — always an unhealthy man, — did not 


314 


BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 


live long after his return ; but he survived 
long enough to put on record one of the most 
striking and beautiful histories of patience and 
unselfishness that form part of the best treasury 
this world has to show. 






























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